Deborah's POV
Looking at Chad's face brought back memories of my family, the Lee family, every single person in Hybrasil.
A surge of anger rushed through me, igniting a violent desire to eliminate him then and there.
Every fiber of my being screamed for vengeance, for justice against the man who had orchestrated the devastation of all I held dear.
But beneath the fury, another truth pulsed—a remnant of an old ache, a connection forged in memories and time.
I couldn't deny that I had once genuinely loved him, fiercely and without reservation, for twelve long years.
That love had once been a constant, a point of light in the dark, and it remained, a faint and stubborn presence.
I tested the waters carefully, letting my voice slip into an almost casual tone as I broached the subject. "That time, at Murias's entrance…"
A flicker of something—hesitation, perhaps—passed over Chad's eyes, but he recovered quickly, masking it beneath a composed exterior.
He dipped his head slightly—a subtle gesture that revealed his unease, as though he was unsure how to navigate this unexpected interaction.
His posture was guarded, his face carefully arranged to betray nothing.
He responded with a brief nod, his tone polished yet wary. "I apologize for the offense that day. I wasn't aware that you were the Edwards family's only daughter."
The words were formal, each syllable measured, a practiced tone that concealed more than it revealed.
I allowed a slight smile to play on my lips, softening my tone deliberately to put him at ease, attempting to erode the barrier he held so tightly in place. "It's fine; no need to be so tense. I understand the duties of your position." Even as I spoke, I watched him intently, studying every flicker of expression, every glance, hoping to decipher the layers of thought lurking beneath his careful facade.
In a world filled with hidden currents and veiled intentions, knowing one's enemy was vital for survival, and I wasn't about to let any detail slip by unnoticed.
A shadow crossed his face, some unreadable emotion, and he seemed to relax slightly. But the reprieve was brief; he quickly shifted his gaze, seemingly unwilling—or perhaps unable—to meet my eyes for more than a fleeting moment.
After a beat, I took a calculated risk, pressing further. "Do you understand why I chose to lead Murias's residents out of that hopeless place?"
The question was delivered gently, almost as if it were a casual observation, but each word was laced with purpose, designed to probe the depths of his thoughts, to push against the boundaries he so carefully maintained.
I leaned forward slightly, subtly closing the distance between us, hoping to draw him in, to compel him to respond, to glimpse any trace of sincerity in his answer.
For a long, suspended moment, Chad remained silent. His gaze dropped to the coffee in his cup, the dark liquid swirling in slow circles, as if he found something within its depths that offered him a brief escape from the weight of my question.
I sensed hesitation in him, an impulse he chose to restrain, his demeanor shifting as he processed my words.
It felt as if I'd struck a nerve, touched on something fragile and buried, yet he kept himself shrouded, unwilling to lay his thoughts bare.
He maintained a careful distance, a measured caution that kept his true stance securely hidden.
I inched even closer, my gaze unwavering as I silently challenged him to break the silence, to give me something—anything—that might hint at the truth beneath his controlled facade.
Finally, under the intensity of my scrutiny, he lifted his gaze, meeting my eyes with a steady yet guarded look.
His voice was soft yet deliberate, his tone restrained. "If Miss Edwards had not escaped Murias with those people, Mr Edwards might never have seen you again."
The words were well-crafted, acknowledging my choice without betraying any hint of personal opinion.
His response felt both diplomatic and evasive, a shielded acknowledgment that deftly avoided any commitment, sidestepping allegiance or empathy.
Clearly, he wasn't willing to jeopardize his standing, a wariness that hinted at a practiced survival instinct.
It was a trait forged by Ablach's ruthless game, a skill honed in an environment where every action held weight and every glance could carry lethal intent.
As I probed deeper, his resolve remained unyielding, his demeanor still as guarded as the smooth surface of coffee that concealed depths I could only guess at.
I sighed quietly, letting a semblance of resignation slip into my tone.
His caution, though maddening, was an understandable form of self-preservation, yet it kept me from seeing the real Chad, from understanding where he truly stood.
Chad lowered his head once more, his fingers tracing an absentminded pattern along the edge of his cup, a gesture that betrayed his unease.
It was a subtle tic, revealing a tension that lingered beneath his polite exterior. His posture conveyed an effort to keep the interaction formal, yet I sensed an ambivalence—a reluctance to complicate things further, mixed with an unwillingness to close the door entirely.
His smile was a thin veneer, polite but distant, the kind of smile one offered an acquaintance rather than a confidant.
It was a smile that served as a barrier, a hint of warmth that never bridged the divide between us.
His lips parted slightly, as though he had something more to say, but he stopped himself, retreating into silence.
His gaze dropped again, lingering on the coffee, his expression guarded, as though the swirling liquid held secrets he wasn't ready to confront.
I chose not to push further, understanding that in this delicate web of alliances and obligations, Chad's choices might not wholly be his own.
A thought surfaced—a quiet, dangerous suggestion. Perhaps Domination could unlock the answers I sought, cut through the guarded words and elusive glances.
I took a thoughtful sip of tea, weighing the implications.
In that charged moment, our eyes met, and I glimpsed something within his gaze—an emotion, raw and guarded, that defied words.
It was a flicker of pain, carefully shielded but present nonetheless, something that spoke of wounds deeper than time could heal.
His gaze was a well of shadows, empty yet dense with hidden thoughts, as though an invisible barrier concealed every emotion, leaving only a chaotic void.
Seizing the opportunity, I silently cast Domination, slipping into his mind like a whisper in the dark.
My voice echoed within him, a soft, unassuming murmur. "What are your thoughts on the time when Matthew and I escaped Murias?"
A subtle shift overcame him. His face grew rigid, his gaze distant and unfocused, as though a tether had pulled him into some distant memory.
His response came in a monotone, devoid of feeling yet carrying a strange, poignant weight. "You reminded me… so much of my fiancee. But you are not her. And that wolf, Matthew, he looks so much like I did when I was young. And I know only by escaping the underground could anyone hope to survive."
Fiancée. The word struck me with the force of a knife, piercing through my anger, my caution, straight to the core of something long-buried.
The impact was visceral, a sharp pang that left me momentarily breathless, my vision blurring as emotions surged to the surface.
Was that what he had seen in me—some echo of a lost love, a ghost of a woman I both was and wasn't? And if I had truly held his heart, how could he have ordered the massacre of my family, the destruction of Hybrasil, my home, my legacy?
In that instant, I felt as if I were being torn between two worlds—one filled with the searing anger of betrayal, the other a tangled web of past affections and complicated loyalties.
A question burned on my lips, demanding answers, seeking to unravel the threads that bound him to his betrayals, to the choices that had shattered everything Lianora held dear.
But as I opened my mouth to speak, his gaze sharpened, the coldness returning with a sudden clarity as he tore himself from my hold, retreating behind that impenetrable wall of icy indifference.
As the fragile thread between us snapped, a wave of guilt flooded over me. The memory of Lugh's Domination haunted me—the feeling of being forcibly unmade, my thoughts laid bare, my will stripped away.
I didn't want anyone else to experience that violation, least of all Chad… a man who still remembered Lianora…
"I'm sorry…" The words slipped out, barely more than a whisper, a quiet offering meant as much for myself as for him, a balm for the boundaries I'd overstepped.
The soft sound did not escape his notice. He looked up, his gaze steady, and replied in an even softer tone, "It's alright. I'm used to it."
The words were like a weight pressing against my chest, heavy with implications I didn't want to examine.
Used to it?
How many times had he been subjected to the Demons' Domination, to manipulation and control, to reach a point where he could speak of it with such numb acceptance?
The implications left a hollow ache, a silent horror at the life he had endured.
A chilling suspicion began to unfurl within me, whispering that perhaps Chad hadn't willingly orchestrated the Lee family's massacre.
Perhaps he, too, had been under the sway of some greater force, a pawn in a game he couldn't escape.
My thoughts spun, but a question surfaced, unbidden, slipping past my guard. "Tell me something about your fiancee."