The room was bathed in silver moonlight, casting long shadows across the silk sheets.He knelt beside the bed, head bowed low, as if praying to a god who had already cursed him.
His fingers hovered over hers, trembling before making contact.Just a touch—light, reverent."I know you're awake," he murmured, voice hoarse with something dangerously close to regret.
Amelia kept her eyes shut, muscles frozen.Her heartbeat galloped like a trapped animal in her ribcage.She felt every shift in the mattress when he crawled in earlier,Every staggered breath he took as he lowered himself beside her.And now—this.
He thought she was sleeping.
But how could she sleep,when the man who shattered her had returned to piece her together—with the same hands that broke her?
His presence was like smoke:gentle in movement,poisonous in memory.He wasn't a lover anymore.He was a phantom trying to rewrite the ending of a ghost story.
He leaned closer, breath warming the side of her face.
"Amelia…"Her name left his lips like a confession, not a call.As if saying it out loud might redeem him.Or ruin her.
His lips brushed her forehead.
Not with desire.
But with devastation.
A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye.Still—she didn't move.
He stood and walked to the window, moonlight swallowing him whole.
Then came his whisper—not to her,but to the darkness beyond.
"If you wake up tomorrow and still can't forgive me... I'll leave. Forever."
Thunder cracked outside.
She opened her eyes.Her lips parted.But the bed between them felt wider than the world.