All Chapters of His Halo is a Lie: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

The quiet started to feel heavy.At first, I thought it was just me, my nerves stretched thin after months of blood and fire, my body waiting for danger that never came. But the more I watched him, the more I knew.Saint was hiding something.He smiled when I looked at him, held my hand when we walked, kissed me like I was the only thing keeping him alive. But his eyes… they were different. Alert, restless, sharp in ways they hadn’t been since the night he promised to give it all up.Peace surrounded us, but he was still listening for war.One morning, I caught him on the balcony at dawn, phone pressed to his ear. His back was to me, his voice low, controlled, edged with something darker.“Yes. Keep watching. I’ll handle it.”When he turned, he froze. For a heartbeat, his mask slipped. Then the Saint I knew too well slid back into place.“You’re up early,” he said, pocketing the phone.I crossed my arms. “Who were you talking to?”“Business,” he answered smoothly.My stomach twisted.

The smell of blood clung to him.It followed Saint into the penthouse, mixed with smoke and gunpowder, the same way it had the very first night I touched him. For a moment, I stood frozen, staring at the man who had burned his empire for me, only to come back drenched in proof that peace was still a dream.He said it was over.But his shirt was red, his hands were steady, and his eyes were darker than I had ever seen them.“Saint,” I whispered, my voice breaking.He dropped the gun onto the table with a sharp clatter. “It’s done.”I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But the part of me that had lived through this before, the part that had stitched his wounds, kissed his scars, begged him to stop, knew better.Because peace never looked like this.I crossed the room slowly, my hands trembling as I reached for him. His skin was warm beneath my touch, his pulse steady. Alive. That was all that mattered, I told myself.“You killed him,” I breathed.“Yes.”“And the others?”“Gone.”I

The city didn’t sleep.It hummed beneath us, restless, alive with noise and shadows. And no matter how tightly I clung to Saint, I felt it pressing in.I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that Torrez’s death meant freedom, that the fire had burned away the chains tying him to this world. But belief didn’t silence the way he kept checking doors, the way his hand never strayed far from the gun at his side, the way his eyes cut sharp through every shadow.Peace wasn’t real. Not here. Not with him.And I didn’t know if love was strong enough to survive in a place where war never stopped knocking.One evening, I found him on the balcony again, cigarette burning between his fingers, the city stretched below like a restless sea. He looked carved from stone, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on something I couldn’t see.“You’re waiting,” I said softly.He didn’t turn. “Always.”My chest tightened. “What if they don’t come?”“They will.” His voice was steady, certain. “The city hates a vacu

The lie sat heavy between us.He said he had been with Lucio. But I knew better. I smelled it on him, the smoke, the faint iron tang of blood that clung even when he scrubbed his hands raw. I saw it in his eyes, sharp and restless, the same eyes that once told me he would give it all up for me.But the city hadn’t let him go. And now, he wasn’t letting go of it either.Every time he whispered that it was “almost done,” a part of me cracked. Because I knew that promise was as fragile as glass, and glass always shatters.I stood at the window that night, watching the skyline. The city pulsed with light, alive and hungry. Somewhere out there, men were speaking his name again. Some in fear, some in challenge.And every whisper pulled him closer to the man I had begged him not to be.When he came up behind me, sliding his arms around my waist, I leaned into him because I couldn’t do anything else. His chest was warm against my back, his lips brushed my neck, and for a moment I let myself p

He came home with blood in his eyes.Not on his hands, not this time. He’d scrubbed himself clean before walking through the door, but I knew. I saw it in the way he held me, crushing, desperate, like he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go. I felt it in the tremor of his breath when he whispered against my hair.“It’s done. It’s finished. No more.”I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to.But I’d heard those words before.That night, he didn’t sleep.I woke in the dark and found him sitting at the edge of the bed, his back to me, his shoulders bowed. Moonlight spilled across his skin, painting the scars I’d traced with my lips a hundred times. His hands hung loose between his knees, but his chest rose and fell too quickly, like he was still fighting.“Saint?” My voice was soft, almost afraid to touch the quiet.He glanced back, and for the briefest second I saw it, the flicker of the man who had killed to protect me. The one the city feared.Then it was gone, buried beneath something