All Chapters of You Left, I Could Have Fixed Us: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Chapter One Hundred and NineMaya’s POVThe fire had almost burned out by the time I found my breath again.The light had faded into low embers, soft orange against the stone walls. I could still feel the warmth from Ethan’s body, even though he’d finally pulled away. He sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed, elbows resting on his knees.Neither of us spoke.The quiet between us wasn’t peaceful. It was fragile — like the thin space between calm and collapse.I pulled the sheet up around me, my skin flushed, still trembling. My hat hadn’t slowed yet, and every time I looked at him, it started all over again.He didn’t look at me. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor, his breathing heavy but steady. He looked like a man trying to hold himself together with whatever was left of his control.When I finally spoke, my voice came out in a low tone. “You regret it.”His head lifted, and the look he gave me was sharp not angry, but wounded. “Don’t start.”“You do,” I said again. “You’re already

Chapter One Hundred and ElevenMaya’s POVThe light coming through the window was pale and soft, the kind that made everything look calmer than it really was.I woke up to silence.The kind of silence that didn’t feel peaceful. It felt like something was missing.The sheets were still warm beside me, but he wasn’t there. His scent lingered faintly, smoky, familiar. I reached for the space he’d left behind, my hand brushing the edge of the pillow. Cold.He hadn’t been gone long. But long enough for me to feel it.I sat up slowly, pulling the blanket around me. My body still felt the weight of what had happened between us the heat of his hands, the way he’d said my name like it hurt to say it. Everything about last night had felt like the truth, even if neither of us said it out loud.Now, in the quiet morning light, that truth felt fragile. Like something that could break if I moved too quickly.I slipped out of bed, the stone floor cool under my feet, and reached for the robe hanging

Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen Maya’s POV The air between them still felt sharp, heavy with things that hadn’t been said. Ethan hadn’t moved from where he stood. He was close enough that I could feel the weight of his stare, close enough that if I reached out, I’d touch the edge of his coat. But I didn’t move. I stayed still, holding his gaze, pretending that the silence didn’t feel like it was pulling at me. Alvarez’s voice still lingered somewhere in the room, quiet but cruel in the way only his could be. He had left just minutes ago, though the scent of his wine and smoke still clung to the air. Ethan hadn’t spoken a word since. It was like the moment was suspended, caught between what almost happened and what still could. He finally looked away first. His jaw was tight, his breath uneven as he reached for the decanter on the table. The sound of glass hitting glass felt too loud. He poured a drink, then another, his hands steady but his expression darker than before. When

Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen Maya’s POV The walk to the throne room felt longer than usual. The corridors were quiet, the kind of quiet that only happens before something important. Every sound — the whisper of my robe, the echo of my footsteps — seemed louder, heavier. I passed the guards by the main doors, and none of them looked at me. They didn’t need to. The silence said enough. Everyone had heard something. I pushed the doors open slowly, the weight of them pulling against my arms. He was already there. Alvarez. The King. He stood by the window, his back turned toward me, his hands clasped behind him. The morning light hit his shoulders, outlining his figure in sharp gold. He didn’t turn when I entered. Only said, quietly, “Close the door.” I did. The sound of it clicking shut behind me made the air inside the room feel heavier. He still didn’t face me. For a moment, all I heard was the slow, controlled rhythm of his breathing. Then, finally, he turned. His eye

Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen Maya’s POV The guards didn’t speak when I approached the King’s chambers. They only stepped aside and pushed the door open. The sound of it closing behind me was heavier than it should have been. Alvarez stood by the fireplace again, same place as earlier, though this time he wasn’t wearing his crown or the formal robe. He looked tired still sharp, still dangerous, but tired. The kind of tired that hides behind control. The room smelled faintly of smoke and spiced wine. His drink was already poured, half gone. He didn’t look at me when I stepped in. “Sit,” he said quietly. I crossed the room and sat on the small couch near the fire. My hands stayed folded in my lap, though my fingers wouldn’t stop moving. For a moment, there was only the crackle of the flames. Then his voice. “You think I don’t see what’s happening?” he said. I didn’t answer. He turned toward me slowly, his gaze steady and unreadable. “You and Ethan. You’ve made it hard to