All Chapters of His Halo is a Lie: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

There were mornings when I almost forgot who he had been.I would wake to sunlight on the sheets, to his arms wrapped heavy around me, to the sound of his quiet breathing, and I would believe we were ordinary. Just a man and a woman, building a life together without shadows following us.Those mornings were my favorite.But the city never let us forget for long.At the market, people still stared. Some looked at him with fear, others with recognition, and a few with open challenge. I felt their eyes on us, but I also felt his hand holding mine, strong and steady.“Ignore them,” he whispered once when a man lingered too long.“I am,” I whispered back.But the truth was, I never fully could. Every stare reminded me that we were not invisible. Every whisper reminded me that his past was still close enough to touch.And yet, when he smiled at me, when he kissed me over the fruit stand or teased me for picking the softest peaches, I forgot them all.Because in those moments, he wasn’t Sain

I had always believed love was supposed to feel light, but with Saint, love felt heavy. Not in a way that dragged me down, but in a way that grounded me, tied me to something real and unshakable. Loving him was carrying his weight, his scars, his silences, and knowing he carried mine too.After he showed me the sketch of the house, I began to picture it. A porch bathed in sunlight, a small garden, maybe even a dog running across the grass. It was simple, almost ordinary, but in our world, it felt extraordinary. A dream so delicate I hardly dared to speak it aloud.But Saint carried it with him. I could see it in the way he looked at me now, softer, more certain. And I wanted it as much as he did.Still, dreams have a way of clashing with reality.Elise reminded me of that constantly.One afternoon, she came over with coffee, her eyes sharp as ever. “You’re glowing,” she said, watching me stir sugar into my cup.“Am I?” I laughed, brushing her off.“Yes. And it terrifies me.”I frowned

I never imagined love could feel like a battlefield where silence was the victory. Yet with Saint, every quiet night, every ordinary morning, every walk through the market without blood was a win.There were times I caught myself studying him as if I might miss something. The way his hand twitched when strangers stared too long. The way his jaw tightened when he heard his name whispered. The way his eyes burned when men tested him with laughter that was too sharp. He was still fighting inside, every single day. But he was fighting for me. For us.That knowledge gave me strength. It also terrified me. Because I knew how fragile peace could be.One evening, I sat with Elise in a café. She watched me sip my tea, her brows furrowed.“You’re happy,” she said, almost accusingly.“I am,” I answered.“You look like a woman in love.”“I am that too.”Her sigh was heavy. “And when the city takes him back?”I set my cup down sharply. “It won’t.”Her gaze softened, though her words stayed sharp.

The cabin felt like a dream I didn’t want to wake from.For the first time in so long, I could breathe without fear clawing at the edges of every moment. The air was crisp, the silence deep, the nights filled with nothing but firelight and his arms around me. It was the kind of life I had always wanted, simple and quiet, even if it was only borrowed for a weekend.Saint was different here. Softer. Lighter. His laughter came easier, his touch lingered longer, his eyes stayed on me instead of drifting to every shadow. I saw pieces of the man he might have been if the city hadn’t claimed him. And I saw the man he was choosing to be now.That morning, I found him sitting on the porch, coffee in hand, staring at the forest like it was a kingdom.“What are you thinking about?” I asked, settling beside him.He glanced at me, then back at the trees. “How quiet it is.”“Too quiet?”His lips twitched. “Maybe. But I could get used to it.”I leaned against his shoulder, sipping my own coffee. “So

Coming back from the cabin felt like stepping out of a dream and into a storm.The forest had been quiet, almost too quiet, but that silence had wrapped around us like a shield. It gave me room to breathe, to believe that Saint and I could carve a life out of the wreckage of his past. Every creak of the wooden floor, every laugh by the fire, every morning waking with him beside me had been proof that peace was possible.But the city stripped that away the moment we returned.The air was different here—thick with smoke, heavy with noise. Horns blared, voices shouted in every direction, engines rumbled beneath our feet. The buildings towered like watchmen, their glass walls reflecting not just light but memory, reminders of everything Saint used to be. The whispers returned too, though no one spoke loud enough for me to hear. I felt them in the way eyes lingered too long, in the way strangers stiffened as he passed, in the way the atmosphere bent around him like it still recognized him