But this time, it doesn’t feel quite as suffocating. I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at my half-packed bag. At the life I was about to walk back into. At the one I’m not sure I can stay in. And for the first time since everything exploded, the anger isn’t the only thing I feel.
Chapter 39
Liv
I don’t sleep, not really. I close my eyes and I lie still. I breathe in time with the pattern in my head thatseemslike sleep breathing would be. But my brain doesn’t shut off.
It just loops Arthur’s voice and face.
The way the word “his father” sounded when he said it. The way something inside me broke when I realized he’d taken that choice away from me.
And Arthur’s voice, calm and measured, saying, “context might help.”
I stare at the ceiling until the gray of morning starts to bleed through the curtains. My bag is still half-packed at the foot of the bed.
I didn’t leave, but I sure spent the night alone. Until last night, Alex hadn’t been sleeping in his old room. He shared a bed with me. I don’t know if he stayed the night in the manor or if he went to his apartment. I didn’t leave this room to find out. The only time I even open the door was when Wilfred left me a meal on a tray with a soft knock at the door.
But I didn’t leave, which feels like a decision on its own. Even if I don’t fully understand it yet.
There’s a knock on the door, soft and careful. “Liv.”
My pulse skyrockets. I sit up slowly, pushing the blanket back. “Yeah?”
“Can I come in?”
I close my eyes for a second. This is it, the moment when things either break completely or somehow start to rebuild.
“…Okay.”
The door opens and he steps in like he’s done plenty of times while I’ve been staying here but he’s not the same. His shoulders are lower and his expression is just… raw. No more control of himself.
He doesn’t come too close, stopping a few feet inside the room like he’s giving me space to change my mind.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey.” The word feels fragile, like it could shatter if I put too much weight on it.
Silence stretches between us, different from last night. Less explosive, more… uncertain.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out of him fast and unpolished, like he didn’t rehearse them.
I blink. Because there’s no defense in them and no justification like I expected.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he continues. “I shouldn’t have taken your DNA. I shouldn’t have made that decision for you.”
My heart skips a beat. This is what I needed last night. Not logic or reasoning, just acknowledgment.
“I was scared,” he states, his voice quieter now. “But that doesn’t make it okay.”
I swallow. Hearing him say that matters more than I expected it to.
“I didn’t think about what it would feel like for you,” he adds. “Not the way I should have.”
There’s a pause then, he repeats himself. “I’m sorry.” This time, it’s even deeper.
I shift on the bed, my fingers twisting in the fabric of the blanket. “I know why you did it,” I say.
His gaze flicks up surprised.
