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Chapter Thirty-six
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2025-09-01 06:27:00
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LOVE ME LIKE A CURSE Chapter Thirty-Nine [MISPLACED RECOGNITION]
The elevator doors were just about to close when a hand slid in, stopping them with an effortless push. I startled, clutching my bag tighter, and looked up. A man stepped inside—tall, sharp in a gray suit His hair was dark, cut with precision, He moved with the kind of ease that made it obvious he was used to taking up space, used to people noticing when he entered a room. “Sorry,” he said, His voice was low. “It’s fine,” I murmured, shifting slightly, pretending to study the glowing numbers above the doors. For a beat, silence stretched between us. My pulse wouldn’t settle. Then, as if he could sense I was determined not to look at him, he shifted too, angling himself just enough that I couldn’t ignore the weight of his presence. “You’re new here,” he said finally. I blinked, turned. “Excuse me?” He smiled—small, knowing. “I’ve been in this building for three years. I know most faces by memory. Yours? Definitely not one of them.” I tried not to roll my eyes. “May
LOVE ME LIKE A CURSE Chapter Thirty-Eight [A FACE FORGOTTEN CON'TD]
The Following Morning --- The morning found me before my alarm did. Light pressed against my eyelids, warm and insistent, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if I had truly left the dream at all. My body felt heavy in the sheets, but my mind… my mind was still trailing. I sat up slowly, my hair falling across my face, damp at the roots like I’d been sweating through the night. My throat was dry. The dream clung to me, not in the fleeting way ordinary dreams did, but in that stubborn, marrow-deep way that whispered you didn’t imagine this—you remembered it. I dragged my fingers across my face and whispered into the quiet room, “Who are you for the second time?” The sound startled me. My own voice was hoarse, scratchy, carrying more ache than a simple question should. But it wasn’t simple anymore, was it? The man in my dream, the man in the painting—they couldn’t both exist and be coincidence. My brush had captured his face before I ever dreamed of him. My dream had echoed th
LOVE ME LIKE A CURSE [A LETTER TO YOU !]
Dear Reader, Thank you for your time in reading this letter and for taking a moment to step into the world of Love Me Like a Curse, a story I have poured my heart into. I know your time is precious, and the fact that you’ve chosen to spend it reading this book—even for just a few chapters—is something I do not take lightly. --- If you’re reading this book—or have wandered through its pages up to this point—first, I want to thank you. Truly. Thank you for stepping into the world I’ve lived in fantasy, breathed, and written into every chapter. Writing this story has been a journey of echoes, memories, and brushstrokes, and to see someone walking beside Arabella as she navigates her tangled, sometimes painful, sometimes intoxicating reality—it is a gift I cannot understate. From the quiet corners of her apartment to the distant murmurs of a world she does not yet understand, your eyes have followed her, your mind has felt her hesitation, her longing, her hunger. You have lived a p
LOVE ME LIKE A CURSE Chapter Thirty-Seven[A FACE FORGOTTEN]
--- Later that night, --- The apartment had settled into a quiet, almost sacred stillness. The city lights outside spilled soft gold through the curtains, painting thin streaks across the floor. Arabella slept in the dim room, her chest rising and falling with measured breaths. In the depth of her sleep, the world of waking did not exist. The faint hum of traffic, the occasional creak of the building settling—all of it dissolved into a shadowed landscape woven by her mind, a realm of half-formed shapes and whispers Her eyelids flickered, and her hands twitched against the sheets as if reacting to something unseen. She was running. Or perhaps floating. Her legs moved, but there was no sense of the ground beneath her. She could feel something behind her—a presence that tugged at her chest and whispered against her mind, though no words formed. Panic flared, sharp and hot, yet there was a pull, a magnetic draw she could not resist. The trees were impossibly tall, their bra
LOVE ME LIKE A CURSE Chapter Thirty-six
--- Elias grabbed two plates from the cabinet and set them on the counter with a soft clink. “Alright, Sleeping Beauty’s feast is almost ready. I just hope she shows up before we start eating.” He leaned on the counter, arms crossed, watching her work with exaggerated interest. “I swear, you could win awards just for the drama you put into cooking. Every stir is like choreography.” Rhea rolled her eyes. “You’re just jealous ,you don’t have that kind of grace. Look at you, hovering over the salad like a lost tourist.” “I’m inspecting it for quality control,” he said solemnly, tapping a leaf with a finger. “Can’t let anyone slip subpar lettuce past me. You know the rules.” “You and your rules,” Rhea muttered, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “If Bella were awake, she’d probably groan at us both.” Elias grinned at the thought. “She’d definitely groan. Or give me that weird side-eye that melts my soul into panic mode. I mean, who gave her that look anyway? Genetic curse or
LOVE ME LIKE A CURSE Chapter Thirty-Five
The apartment smelled like garlic and onions when Elias shoved open the door with his shoulder, his backpack hanging half-unzipped from one arm. The clatter of his sneakers on the entryway floor carried the careless rhythm of someone who hadn’t yet learned the art of moving quietly in shared space. “Rhea?....... You burning something again?” he called, tossing the bag against the wall like it owed him money. From the kitchen, her voice shot back—mock- but sharp enough to cut through the rising hiss of oil in a pan. “Excuse you, Elias Vale. I don’t burn things. I caramelize them with personality.” Elias snorted, dragging a hand through his hair as he kicked off his shoes. The air was thick with warmth and the buttery smell of something frying. His stomach, empty from skipping lunch, gave an impatient growl. He wandered toward the kitchen, leaning lazily against the doorway. “Caramelize with personality? smells more like you’ve picked a fight with the stove again.” Rhea More
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