The Confrontation

Chapter 5: The Confrontation

She walked down the corridor, past assistants' desks (empty now, probably at lunch), past the small kitchenette, past the conference room where she'd once thrown a glass of water at him in front of an entire board of directors.

The memory made her stomach turn.

And then she was there. The door to his office stood slightly ajar, and through the gap she could see him.

Lucian Blackwell sat behind his massive desk, his attention fixed on a stack of documents, his pen moving in precise, efficient strokes. His jacket hung over the back of his chair, his sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and his tie was loosened—small signs of dishevelment that, on him, were practically a scream of distress.

He looked exhausted. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. His jaw was tight with tension. And yet he worked on, a machine built to process paperwork and bury emotion under endless tasks.

Just like in my past life, Aveline thought. Every time I hurt him, he came here and worked until he couldn't think anymore.

She pushed the door open.

Lucian's head snapped up, his eyes instantly alert—the reaction of a man who'd learned to expect danger from every direction. When he saw her, something flickered across his face. Shock, yes. But beneath it, something else. Something that looked almost like relief, quickly suppressed.

"Aveline." His voice was hoarse, rougher than she remembered. "You should be in the hospital."

She didn't respond to that. Instead, she walked directly to his desk, her legs threatening to give way with every step. The divorce papers—the ones Mr. Matt had delivered—were clutched in her trembling hands.

She slammed them onto the desk between them.

"Explain this."

Lucian's gaze dropped to the papers, then rose to meet hers. His expression was carefully, painfully neutral—the mask she'd always hated, the wall she'd never been able to breach.

"You know what it is. You've been asking for it since the day we married."

"Don't give me that." Aveline's voice shook, but not with the usual rage. This was something else—fear, desperation, a frantic need to buy time. "Is this what you want? To be free of me?"

Something shifted in his eyes. Pain, quickly hidden. "It's what you want. It's always been what you want."

"And you're just giving in? Just like that?" She laughed, but it was bitter, hollow. "All those times you told me you'd never let me go. All those promises. Were they all lies? Was I just another business deal to you?"

Lucian rose slowly from his chair, his tall frame casting a shadow across the desk. "You know they weren't lies."

"Then why?" Aveline's voice cracked. "Why are you signing them now? Are you so intimidated by me? So scared of what I might do next that you'd rather just wash your hands of me?"

His jaw tightened. "That's not—"

"You promised me, Lucian!" She was shouting now, but the tears streaming down her face told a different story than anger. "You stood in front of everyone and promised to love me forever. You said you'd never leave me, never divorce me, no matter what. Was any of it real?"

"You tried to kill yourself, Aveline." His voice was raw, stripped of its usual control. "You tried to die rather than stay married to me. What was I supposed to do? Keep you trapped in a marriage that was destroying you?"

The words hit her like physical blows.

He let me go because he loved me. Because he thought it would save me.

Just like in her past life. Just like she'd been too blind to see.

"Maybe I don't want to be saved," she whispered.

Lucian stared at her, confusion breaking through his mask. "What are you saying?"

Aveline's mind raced. She couldn't tell him the truth—that she'd lived another life, that she'd been betrayed and murdered, that she'd been given a second chance. He'd think she'd lost her mind. He'd probably have her committed.

But she couldn't just surrender either. She had to fight. She had to make him fight.

"You've ruined my life," she said, her voice hardening into something cold and sharp. "You married me against my will. You kept me from Damien. You made me hate you."

Each word felt like a knife in her own chest, but she forced them out.

"And now you think you can just... what? Sign some papers and walk away? Let me go live happily ever after with someone else?"

Lucian's face had gone pale, his hands clenching at his sides. "What do you want, Aveline?"

She leaned forward, her palms flat on his desk, her eyes blazing with a fire that had nothing to do with hatred.

"I want to make you suffer. The way you've made me suffer." She shoved the divorce papers toward him. "I'm not signing these. Not now. Not ever. You wanted to marry me? Fine. You're stuck with me. And I'm going to make your life so miserable that you'll wish you'd never heard my name."

Lucian stared at her as if she'd grown a second head. "You're not making sense. You've been asking for a divorce for two years—"

"Well, now I'm not asking." She crossed her arms, ignoring the way her body swayed. "I'm staying. And I'm going to make sure you regret every single day of this marriage."

"Aveline, you're clearly not well—"

"Don't." She pointed a shaking finger at him. "Don't you dare dismiss me. Don't you dare treat me like I'm fragile or crazy or whatever excuse you want to use. I know what I'm doing."

"You're pale as death and you can barely stand," he said, his voice rising with concern he couldn't quite hide. "You should be in a hospital bed, not here, starting fights you don't mean."

"How do you know I don't mean it?"

"Because I know you." He moved around the desk, slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal. "I know that when you're truly angry, you're cold, not hot. You scheme, you don't shout. This—" He gestured at her, at the tears on her cheeks, the trembling of her hands. "This is something else."

Aveline's resolve wavered. He saw too much. He always had.

"You don't know me at all," she whispered, but even she didn't believe it.

Lucian stopped inches from her, close enough that she could see the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"Then tell me," he said quietly. "Tell me what this is really about. Tell me why you're here, fighting to stay married to a man you claim to hate."

She opened her mouth, but no words came. What could she say? I died and came back? I know now that you're the only one who ever truly loved me? I'm sorry for everything, every cruel word, every betrayal, every baby I killed?

The weight of it all crashed down on her at once.

The room tilted.

Her vision blurred at the edges.

"Aveline?"

Lucian's voice came from far away, sharp with alarm.

She felt her knees buckle, felt herself falling, felt the divorce papers slip from her fingers and scatter across the floor like broken promises.

But she never hit the ground.

Strong arms caught her, cradling her against a chest she'd pushed away a thousand times. The same arms that had held her in the fire. The same voice, desperate and raw, calling her name.

"Aveline! Aveline, stay with me!"

I'm sorry, she wanted to say. I'm so sorry for everything. I'll make it right. I swear I'll make it right.

But darkness was already claiming her, pulling her down into its embrace.

The last thing she heard was Lucian's voice, breaking as he shouted for help.

And then, nothing.

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