The door slammed behind him, but the sound only echoed in Caveen's mind, louder than any thunder.
He walked fast—almost ran—to the parking lot, the cool night wind doing nothing to calm the fire in his veins. His car door groaned as he yanked it open and threw himself behind the wheel.
He sat there.
Breathing.
Shaking.
His hands clenched on the steering wheel.
She bit him.
She resisted him.
But worse…
She cried.
Caveen pressed his fist to his mouth, eyes wide and hollow.
"She cried…"
That wasn't what he came for.
He came to punish her. To make her remember. To make her suffer the way he had suffered every night thinking of the child they lost—their child—the one she sacrificed without his consent.
But the moment he kissed her…
The taste of her lips, the heat of her skin, the way she trembled—not in hatred, but in heartbreak—it all came rushing back.
The memories.
The love.
"Damn you, Lysandra…" he whispered, banging the steering wheel with his fist.
She had no right to live freely.
She had no right to smile in another man's arms.
She had no right to move on.
And yet… the look in her eyes—haunted and hollow—was not that of someone who had healed.
He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. But behind his lids, he saw her again.
The Lysandra who held their child within her.
The Lysandra who whispered promises in the moonlight.
The Lysandra who loved him so deeply, it made the stars pale.
He gritted his teeth.
She had died that day.
The woman in that apartment tonight was a ghost, walking around with her heart in pieces. He knew because he was the same.
A sharp knock on the car window pulled him out of his thoughts.
It was Zev, his assistant. "Sir," he said gently, "are you alright?"
Caveen opened the door and got out, brushing past Zev without a word.
"Book a flight," he said coldly.
"To where, sir?"
"Anywhere," Caveen muttered. "Somewhere without her scent."
"But—"
Caveen turned, eyes dark and fierce. "Now, Zev."
Zev nodded and backed off.
Caveen leaned against the cool concrete pillar in the garage, one hand on his chest. The pain in his heart felt worse than any blade. The bond, though severed, still ached with memory.
And for the first time in years, the hybrid prince whispered something so soft, it nearly broke him:
"I thought I hated you but I still love you, Lysandra…"
But love, it seemed, was no longer enough.
The sunlight filtered through the pale curtains of her apartment, soft and golden—but Lysandra felt none of its warmth.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, toothbrush in hand, unmoving.
Last night's kiss… his words… his eyes.
I will not let you be happy in this life…
Her chest clenched, and she gripped the edge of the sink. Her knees buckled, but she didn't fall. She couldn't. Not again.
A knock on the door jolted her.
"Lysa? It's me."
Elias.
Her fingers trembled. Her lips were dry. She hadn't expected him today, but of course… he knew.
She straightened up, forced a breath, and opened the door.
Elias stood there, holding two cups of coffee, eyes instantly narrowing at the sight of her pale face and red-rimmed eyes.
"Were you crying?" he asked, voice soft.
Lysandra forced a smile, taking the coffee. "Allergies."
He didn't believe it.
But he didn't press her either.
"Can I come in?" he asked.
She nodded.
They sat in the small living room. The same room where Caveen had kissed her like a punishment. Where he had looked at her with venom.
Elias sipped his coffee. "You seemed… strange today. Quiet. Guarded."
Lysandra stared at the steam rising from her cup. "It was overwhelming. The patients. The clinic."
"And Caveen?"
Her heart skipped.
She looked up.
His eyes were gentle, but steady. "You know him, don't you?"
A beat of silence. Then—
"No," she lied.
He nodded slowly, lips thinning.
She expected him to push. But Elias only said, "Alright."
And that made her want to cry even more.
He stood and walked to the window, gazing out at the bustling street below. "You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready for. I'll wait."
Lysandra's hands trembled around her cup.
Wait.
That word again.
He always waited. Patient. Loyal. Kind.
Not like Caveen, who stormed in like a tempest—leaving ruins behind.
She stood and joined Elias by the window.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"You don't owe me anything, Lysa." He smiled gently. "Just… let me stay."
She nodded, her voice breaking.
"Please stay."
He pulled her gently into a hug, and for the first time that morning, she didn't feel cold.
But deep inside, where no light reached, Caveen's kiss still burned.