All Chapters of Rewinding My Reaper Boyfriend: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The silence in the Garden Room was heavy, weighted down by the scent of dying flowers and exhaustion.It was 2:00 AM. The Masquerade was over. The music had stopped, the cameras had powered down, and the guests had retreated to their rooms to nurse hangovers and regrets.But in Suite 1, the night was just beginning.Elion sat on the edge of the bed, struggling with the knot of Cale’s tie. His fingers were clumsy with fatigue."Hold still," Elion murmured."I am not moving," Cale whispered. His head was thrown back against the pillows, his eyes closed. His face was the color of alabaster—waxy and pale. Sweat beaded on his upper lip."You're trembling," Elion said, finally loosening the silk knot. He pulled the tie free and tossed it onto the floor. "The pain?""The leg," Cale admitted through gritted teeth. "And the noise. The party was... loud.""It's over now. Silence is back."Elion moved to the tuxedo jacket. He peeled it off Cale’s shoulders, careful of the bruised arm. The shirt

The morning after the quiz was loud.The sound of hammers, drills, and shouting men filled the air as the production crew dismantled the elaborate set of the Masquerade Ball. The fairy lights were ripped down, the gazebo was stripped, and the magic of the previous night was disassembled into piles of lumber and wire.Elion stood on the patio of the Garden Room, watching the deconstruction."It looks like a battlefield," Elion murmured."It is a salvage operation," Cale said.Cale was sitting in the wheelchair, positioned just inside the open French doors. He refused to come out onto the patio. He said the "variables" were too high with the construction crew working."They're just taking down lights, Cale," Elion said, leaning against the doorframe. "It's not a war zone.""Construction sites have the highest accident rate of any industry," Cale recited. "Falling objects. Trip hazards. Human error.""You're fun at parties.""I don't go to parties. I survive them."Elion rolled his eyes,

The atmosphere in the mansion had shifted from a party to a wake.It was 10:00 AM. The rain had stopped, leaving the windows streaked and the lawn a muddy churn of tire tracks and crushed grass. Inside, the remaining contestants sat in the lounge, speaking in hushed tones, casting nervous glances at the door of Suite 3.Elion stood by the fireplace, a mug of coffee in his hand. He hadn't slept. He had spent the night in the chair next to Cale’s bed, watching the rise and fall of Cale’s chest, counting the breaths to make sure they didn't stop."Is he really leaving?" Sarah asked, breaking the silence."He has to," Mia whispered. "Did you see Twitter? They're eating him alive. #JusticeForCale has three million tweets. If Kieran stays, people might actually burn the house down.""He cut the rope," Sam said, shaking his head. "I still can't believe it. I thought he was just... intense. Not homicidal.""He's not homicidal," Elion said, his voice flat. "He's desperate. There's a difference

The ambulance pulled up to the front gates of the estate at exactly 1:00 PM.This time, there were no paparazzi. Mira had cleared the perimeter, true to her word (or perhaps true to her fear of a lawsuit). The driveway was empty, save for a few production trucks and the looming, Gothic facade of the mansion itself.Elion helped Cale out of the back. The wheelchair—a sleek, lightweight model provided by the hospital—was waiting."Home sweet home," Elion muttered, locking the brakes so Cale could transfer."It's a structure," Cale corrected, settling into the seat with a grimace. "Home implies safety. This is just... containment.""We made it safe, remember? The bolts. The shutters.""We requested them. Verification is required."They rolled up the ramp Mira had installed over the front steps. The front doors were open.Inside, the remaining contestants were gathered in the foyer. They looked like survivors of a shipwreck waiting for rescue."They're back," Mia whispered to Sam. She sou

The morning sun filtered through the steel shutters of the Garden Room, casting striped shadows across the floor like prison bars.Elion stood in the center of the room. He was holding a feather—a single, golden feather he had salvaged from the trash can where he’d thrown the masquerade masks."Okay," Elion said, his voice steady. "Let's try again. Focus on the feather."Cale sat on the edge of the bed, his cast resting on the floor. He was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, staring at the feather with an intensity that would have set paper on fire in any other timeline."I am focusing," Cale said."Don't just look at it," Elion coached. "Feel it. It's light. It has no mass. It wants to float."He let go of the feather.It drifted down. Slowly. Swaying left, then right.Cale raised his hand. He thrust his palm toward the falling gold plume.Push, Elion thought. Come on, Cale. Just a nudge.The feather didn't stop. It didn't divert. It landed softly on the carpet, completely obe