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Chapter 42

last update Huling Na-update: 2025-05-19 16:15:06

Chapter 42 – Where the Silence Waits

The night in the Kane estate felt colder than usual, though the fireplace in Isla’s room still burned softly. Shadows danced along the walls, whispering secrets only the darkness understood. Isla sat at the edge of her bed, the worn envelope clutched tightly in her hand. It had been tucked behind a drawer in the attic, hidden away like something shameful.

She hadn’t opened it yet.

Something inside her wasn’t ready. Maybe it was fear—fear that the words inside would mirror her own feelings. Or worse, that they’d reflect everything she didn’t want to admit.

Christopher had been distant these past few days. He lingered in the study, spoke less, touched her only when she reached for him first. But when he did, his grip said more than words ever could. He was slipping too, caught in a past neither of them fully understood.

Isla stood and paced the room. Her breath came faster than it should, her fingers trembling slightly as she tore open the envelope.

The letter inside wasn’t dated, but the handwriting was her mother’s. Elegant, sharp, too full of emotion for a woman who always carried herself with cold grace.

"I told myself I wouldn’t write to you again. That I’d sever this cord, stop feeding the ghost of what we once had. But it’s hard to kill something that never really died, Victor. It just went quiet."

Isla’s knees gave out. She sank to the floor and kept reading.

"You always said pain made people real. That it carved away the pretense and left only truth behind. I hated you for that. I hated how right you were. I hated that I couldn’t stop loving you, even after everything."

Her throat tightened. It was like reading her own thoughts. Her own confessions.

Christopher was nothing like Victor—or so she wanted to believe. But both men wielded power like a weapon. Both made her feel small and infinite all at once.

A knock interrupted her spiral.

She didn’t answer.

The door creaked open anyway.

Christopher stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He didn’t step inside immediately—he watched her, his gaze flicking to the letter in her hand.

“I saw the light on,” he said quietly.

Isla folded the letter quickly, hiding it under her leg. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

He walked in, closing the door behind him. The silence stretched between them like a thread ready to snap.

“Was it about him?” His voice was softer than usual. Less control. Less ice.

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Yes.”

He sat beside her on the floor. The heat of his body warmed her skin, but it didn’t melt the tension in her chest.

“I don’t want to become him,” he said after a moment.

“You’re not,” she replied, too quickly. Then, softer, “But sometimes... it feels like I’m repeating her steps.”

Christopher reached for her hand. She let him take it.

“I’m not going to destroy you, Isla,” he said. “Even if I have to fight myself not to.”

She turned to face him fully. Her eyes searched his, looking for the man behind the mask. The one who kissed her like a storm and held her like she was fragile.

“I don’t need protection,” she whispered.

“Maybe not,” he said. “But I do. From what I’m becoming with you.”

Their mouths met, not in hunger, but in something far more dangerous—need.

Not for touch.

Not for dominance.

But for anchoring.

When they broke apart, Isla pressed her forehead to his. “Promise me you won’t lie to me, Christopher. About him. About anything.”

He didn’t answer right away.

But when he did, it was a vow sealed in gravel and blood.

“I won’t lie. Even if the truth ruins everything.”

---

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