Elliott struggled to get up, but the pain from his internal injuries was too much to bear.
Phoebe tried to help him stand, but Elliott winced and pushed her away. Gripping his sword for support, he forced himself upright, his legs still unsteady. He looked down at Phoebe, who sat on the ground in stunned silence, and said with a bitter laugh,
"Heh... The last time I got hurt like this, it was also for a woman. Back then, I cared deeply for her—we grew up together, so of course I wanted to protect her. But after I defeated her enemies and suffered these same damn wounds, she just... ran off to the man she truly loved. I didn't blame her. I knew she never loved me. My protection was just duty, nothing more. So I forced a smile and watched her leave."
He paused, gasping for breath, then coughed up blood.
Phoebe panicked, tears streaming down her face. "Stop talking! Let's get you treated—"
Elliott ignored her, wiping the blood from his lips.
He smiled bitterly. His heart ached, but he needed to say this—needed to lay everything bare before it was over.
To Phoebe, he was probably just a pawn. The woman he loved had never cared for him.
"So I recovered, eventually. Returned to The Swallow Dock, ready to repay my life's debt to my savior and finally be free. And then... I met you. You—" He sucked in a sharp breath, forcing down the blood rising in his throat. He could feel Phoebe trembling.
"That night—when you first rested your head on my shoulder. When you sobbed in my arms. When I saw how William Rockefeller broke your heart. I wanted to protect you. To cherish you. That was when I truly gave you my heart. Even if we had no real ties, I just... wanted to shield you. I knew that pain. So this wound? I don't blame you for it. Not even when you lied about an ambush—because I understood. You owed William. And if I'd sworn to protect you, then helping you repay that debt was my responsibility too. But even after all that... you still couldn't let go of him. So why did you drag me into this? Am I not pitiful enough?"
Phoebe had no answer. She reached out to steady his swaying body, but Elliott stepped back, letting her hand fall empty.
"Ah, right. I'm not pitiful at all," he mocked himself. "I'm just someone anyone can trample on. My heart's colder than ice, harder than stone. So no, I'm not pitiful. Right?"
Phoebe's chest tightened. She had used him—manipulated him against William, then betrayed him without a second thought for his feelings.
"I'll tend to my wounds," Elliott said. "But this one—" He slammed a fist three times against his chest, then spat blood. "—won't ever heal. Let it die."
With that, he turned and limped away, leaning heavily on his sword.
Phoebe watched him go, remembering the warmth of his presence these past days—the rare, untainted joy she'd felt with him.
And suddenly, she realized: the greatest mistake of her life was failing to see how much he had given her. Even William had never treated her this way.
As Elliott's figure grew smaller, she knew she couldn't let him walk away. Not after hearing his raw honesty. Not when she wasn't completely indifferent to him.
In him, she saw herself—the version of her that had once loved William with that same depth. But she had never given William half of what Elliott had given her.
Maybe... it was time to do what she truly wanted.