เข้าสู่ระบบElowen’s POV
The morning light cut through the floor-to-ceiling glass of the study in a cold, pale glare, stripping the shadows from the dark walnut walls.
The digital clock on the terminal screen read 8:30 AM.
I sat back in the heavy leather chair, my fingers resting on the edge of the panel. I had spent the entire night sealing the final database. There were no complex algorithms left to trac
--- Elowen's POVFor some seconds, neither of us moved.The automatic glass doors of the gallery clicked shut behind Diego, cutting off the cold winter wind. The warm, quiet air of the exhibition room settled between us like a heavy blanket.I stood near the center of the polished stone floor, my right hand gripping the handle of my mahogany walking cane. My knuckles were pale against the dark wood, but I forced my posture to stay straight, my shoulders square, and my face completely neutral.Diego stood in the doorway, shaking a few stray snowflakes off the collar of his dark wool coat. He looked almost exactly the same as the last time I had seen him—dark hair neatly styled, sharp jacket, and the polished look of a man who cared deeply about how the world perceived him.When his eyes landed on me, his entire body went rigid.He blinke
--- Elowen's POVThree more weeks passed in Paris, bringing steady, quiet progress every single day.By early December, the cold winter air had fully settled over the city. Frost covered the high glass windows of the conservatory each morning, and the trees in the courtyard were completely bare. But inside the townhouse on Rue de l'Université, my life no longer revolved around a wheelchair.The transport chair was officially folded up and stored inside the hallway closet.With Marie’s constant guidance and strict daily exercises, my core and lower back muscles had grown strong enough to support my weight. My body felt grounded again. I no longer felt the terrifying sensation that my spine might give out beneath me. Dr. Navarro flew in from Spain for one final check-up, reviewing my digital scans and testing my leg reflexes before giving me his full approval.I still wore a lightweight, low-profile supportive brace under my clothes to protect my lower spine, and I relied on a sleek mah
--- Elowen's POVFour weeks passed in a steady, unhurried rhythm of discipline and quiet transformation.By mid-November, the damp autumn chill over Paris had deepened, turning the leaves along Rue de l'Université into dark bronze velvet beneath the grey sky. But inside number forty-two, the atmosphere was no longer defined by medical routines or cautious steps.The transport wheelchair sat folded in the corner of the entryway, covered by a light sheet. I hadn't sat in it for ten days."Three more steps, Elowen," Marie said, standing two paces ahead of me in the living room with her arms loosely opened, ready but no longer hovering. "Keep your hips level. Don't lean into your right side."I took a breath, letting it out slowly as I shifted my weight.My right foot moved forward, pressing firmly onto the polished parquet floor. Then my left. T
--- Elowen's POVThe ride back across the 7th Arrondissement took less than ten minutes, but every second inside the dark cabin of the car stretched into an eternity.Neither of us spoke. Killian sat with his arm resting against the doorframe, his gaze fixed rigidly on the passing streetlamps of Rue de Grenelle. His jaw was locked tight, his profile carved out of shadow and hard marble. Beside him, I stared straight ahead at the driver's partition, my hands folded tightly over my lap to hide the tremor in my fingers.When the car pulled up to the heavy timber gates of number forty-two, the driver jumped out to lower the rear ramp.Killian stepped out into the damp night air first. He didn't wait for the driver to assist me. In silence, he guided my transport chair out of the vehicle and up the smooth stone threshold into the entryway. His movements were smooth, efficient, and precise
--- Elowen's POVBy seven in the evening, the drizzle over Rue de l'Université had completely stopped, leaving the cobblestones glistening under the amber glow of the wrought-iron streetlamps.I sat in my wheelchair near the hallway mirror, checking my reflection one last time. I wore a simple cream knit sweater, dark tailored trousers, and a soft cashmere scarf draped loosely around my neck. No heavy makeup, no formal evening dress—just as he had instructed in his text.A quiet vibration against the wooden vanity made me look down.Killian: At the front gate.I let out a slow, steadying breath, unlocked my wheel brakes, and navigated down the tiled entrance corridor toward the front timber door.When I opened it, Killian was standing on the stone steps outside. He wore a dark wool overcoat over an unbuttoned charcoal shirt, his
--- Elowen's POVTwo full days passed without a single sound from across the courtyard.No sudden knocks on the conservatory door. No uninvited visits with antique chessboards. Not even a shadow moving behind the second-floor linen drapes of the opposite stone house.By the second afternoon, the silence in the townhouse had turned thick and heavy.I spent the morning alone. Marie had a scheduled day off to visit her daughter in Versailles, leaving me with explicit instructions to keep to my light floor stretches and not push my luck on the standing bars without supervision. I kept my promise, but sitting on the sofa with a mug of herbal tea, my eyes kept wandering back to the dark windowpanes facing the garden.A bitter, restless heat slowly coiled in my chest.Forty-eight hours.After everything he had pulled—after







