"...That's what you think."
"What?" Adelia asked, stunned by Willow's sudden interruption.
"I mean, they're all worried about me only because they think I'm Willow Astor—the real Willow Astor." He laughed bitterly, looking away. "Do you think they'd still care so much if they knew that the real Willow's soul is long gone and that he's been replaced by a stranger? Do you think they'd still want to save me?"
Adelia was silent, unable to find the words. Willow pressed on, his voice softening. "You know just how much damage he can do if I don't go along with this. And you also know what will happen when the truth finally comes out. Liam only wants me, he has nothing to do with you or anyone else. If he gets me, he won't bother with any of you. So, Adelia," he said, his tone soft but firm, "let's stop here. Let's live separately, like strangers. It's the best thing—for both of us."
Adelia was silent, and Willow thought she understood. He asked again, "You get it, right?"
"So you mean..." Adelia's voice was still. "If everyone knew the truth, you'd come back to us." She laughed, almost like a revelation had hit her. "Why didn't I think of it sooner? Everything can be alright again."
Willow felt a rush of panic. He tried to stop her, his voice pleading. "Wait, Adelia, don't do anything reckless! If you do this, everything we've done will be in vain. Please, think it through!"
But Adelia's voice was alight with a new sense of determination, her smile practically audible. "I've thought this through more than anything. And don't worry about the location—we'll find you. The hero always finds the villain's lair in the final scene, right?"
Now Willow sat nervously in his room, pacing with a gnawing sense of dread. He was locked in there by Liam after some mysterious incident. Liam had become increasingly watchful, yet Willow couldn't see him as any sort of predator, despite his overbearing demeanor. He tried to convince Adelia afterward, but she had gone silent, as unresponsive as he'd been with her since his captivity began.
Liam's stern words lingered in his mind, the intense way he'd looked at Willow earlier flashing in his memory. Liam, usually so composed, had looked tense, a hint of fear in his eyes—something Willow had never seen before. Oddly enough, it made Willow feel a twisted sense of satisfaction, seeing that hint of vulnerability in Liam, even though he himself had far more to lose.
"Stay here," Liam had commanded, his voice shaking slightly. "Don't move, and don't call for help. You know what I'll do if you do."
Willow had nodded, feigning submission, his body shivering as if he truly feared him. A smug look had flashed across Liam's face, reassured that he still held control. Too bad he didn't know he was about to lose it all.
Despite the danger, Willow couldn't help but relish the thought of Adelia revealing everything. The thought of Liam losing his upper hand filled him with something close to joy. He was done worrying about these endless lies, this weight of guilt and fear pressing down on him. He just wanted it to be over.
With a heavy sigh, he plopped down on the bed, feeling strangely at ease. Someone once said that it's in the eye of the storm that you feel the calmest, and right now, he thought that must be true. Here he was, at the most tense moment of his life, yet he felt a surreal peace, like he was just deciding what to have for dinner.
After a while, he lay there, counting imaginary sheep to pass the time. Just as he reached number 44, frantic knocks pounded on the door. He tilted his head, wondering who it could be, though he didn't feel any urgency about it. He simply unlocked the door with a click and opened it.
He didn't expect to feel much at the sight of whoever was on the other side, but he was utterly unprepared for what he saw. Charlie stood there. Not only was he there—he looked a mess. His shoulders sagged in relief as their eyes met, a single tear escaping. There were bruises on his face, his clothes disheveled, and he was panting, his entire body shaking. But what struck Willow most was his eyes.
Charlie's eyes were calm. They held an unbreakable stillness, as though he had found exactly what he'd been fighting for, and now that he had it, nothing could take it away.
Willow didn't say a word. He felt like he didn't deserve to. After everything he'd done to Charlie- all the hurt, all the betrayal- Willow knew he was undeserving of this. He wasn't a saint; he had been ruthless, and his cruelty toward Charlie was something he couldn't excuse. He felt no right to the loyalty, the bruises, the raw emotion in Charlie's gaze. He didn't deserve any of it.