Deborah's POV
I walked toward Chad's bedroom, my fingers lightly resting on the doorknob. For reasons I couldn't quite pinpoint, a strange sense of anticipation curled in my chest. As I pushed the door open, the sight before me made me stop in my tracks.
Everything inside was achingly familiar. The arrangement, the furniture, even the soft gray checkered bedding on the bed—all of it was exactly the same as his old apartment in Hybrasil. It felt as though I had stepped into a carefully preserved memory, though tainted by a chill of detachment.
I turned my gaze back to Chad, a faint, teasing smile curling on my lips. "Not joining me?" I asked, my voice tinged with deliberate provocation. My eyes held his, daring him, testing him, with an edge of playful defiance. My posture leaned slightly against the doorframe, my arms crossing loosely over my chest, as if I were utterly at ease.
Chad's reaction was instantaneous. He stiffened slightly, though he quickly masked it with a controlled breath; the tension was unmistakable. "Miss Edwards," he said evenly, though his voice carried a hint of warning. "Please behave appropriately."
"You're the one who mentioned my father," I countered, tilting my head slightly, my smile deepening. "So what you're saying is, if he didn't know I was here, it would be a different story?"
His eyes flickered, a subtle crack in his composure. He lowered his gaze as though to escape my probing stare, his silence speaking volumes. I could see him weighing his words carefully, yet his hesitation felt like tacit acknowledgment.
The bedroom itself was simple, almost Spartan, yet it held a strange, quiet intimacy. The same wooden bedside table stood beside the bed, topped with an unassuming lamp and a book—its spine cracked, its pages open, as if he had just been reading it. Everything here seemed untouched by time, as though he had tried to freeze the past in place.
My eyes landed on the pillow on the bed—a design I used to adore. The sight of it made something twist painfully in my chest.
Chad noticed. He stepped forward, quickly picking up the pillow. His movements were deliberate but lacked their usual confidence, and without a word, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
The sound echoed faintly in the stillness, a gentle reminder of the solitude this space now carried.
His apartment's soundproofing was excellent, leaving me in a cocoon of silence. Only the faint hum of the ventilation system broke the stillness. The familiar scent of "Mentzelia Involucrata" hung in the air—that subtle sweetness that had once symbolized comfort and hope. Now, it felt almost suffocating.
I slowly rose from the bed and walked toward the bedside table. My fingers brushed against the surface, pausing on a photograph encased in a simple frame. It was a picture of Chad and me, standing side by side on the shores of Hybrasil, our backs to the camera as we faced the endless expanse of the ocean. The sunlight had bathed us in gold, turning our silhouettes into a perfect harmony.
This was a snapshot of what once was. It had been a token of our love, a reminder of simpler, happier days. Now, it felt like a relic of a life that no longer existed—a tether to a past that had crumbled beneath the weight of betrayal and loss.
I turned toward the wardrobe and pulled it open. The arrangement within was meticulous, the clothing neatly hung in a familiar sequence of blacks, whites, and grays. Even the small drawer beneath contained the same assortment of ties and cufflinks, each nestled in its designated spot, untouched by chaos or carelessness. A bottle of cologne, its label faded with time, sat tucked in a corner. I had given it to him years ago as a gift. That he had kept it all these years… it felt like a mockery of the present.
Closing the drawer, I took a step back and surveyed the room. It was a shrine to the past, to the version of us that had once existed. It was as though Chad had locked himself in a time capsule, refusing to move forward, unable to let go. Was it grief that held him here? Or guilt?
I sat back down on the bed, letting my hand trail over the familiar fabric of the duvet. The weight of memory pressed against me. Lying here felt so much like those nights in Hybrasil, sharing quiet moments that now seemed like a lifetime ago. It was all so familiar, so unchanged, and yet… it was all wrong.
This was Chad's bedroom, but I was no longer the same person who had once belonged here. The woman he had loved—Lianora—was gone. In her place stood someone shaped by vengeance and pain, someone who could no longer afford the luxury of trust.
I closed my eyes, letting the past wash over me for a moment longer before forcing it away.
Chad, whatever you're holding onto, it changes nothing. You may mourn me, regret your actions, but you can't erase what you've done. You are the one who destroyed everything.
My hands curled into fists, and I opened my eyes. This was no time for sentimentality. I was here for a reason, and it wasn't to indulge in nostalgia.
***
Earlier that evening, I had left Lugh's home abruptly, unable to finish the dinner he had so carefully planned. My hunger had been gnawing at me ever since, a constant reminder of my unfinished meal.
Lying in Chad's bed did little to help. Restless and unsatisfied, I finally slipped out of the room, my bare feet padding against the floor as I quietly made my way to the kitchen.
Chad's eating habits were as disciplined as ever. He favored simplicity—salads, lean proteins, minimal indulgences. But I remembered how he used to stock his shelves with all my favorite snacks. Back in Hybrasil, he would always keep peach-flavored yogurt, beef jerky, and an array of sugary treats on hand just for me. Those small gestures of care had once melted my heart.
I didn't expect much—perhaps some milk and flakes in the refrigerator, just enough to keep me going. I didn't dare hope for more.
But as I stepped into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge, my breath caught in my throat.
The cold light spilled out, illuminating shelves that were far from the spartan essentials I had expected. Instead, it was stocked with an abundance of items that struck me like a blow to the chest.
Neatly arranged at eye level were rows of peach-flavored yogurt—the very flavor I had once adored.
They seemed to stare back at me, a silent reminder of a time I thought I had buried. Beside them, packages of dried fruit and artisanal chocolates nestled together with the kind of care that bordered on reverence.
On the lower shelf, there was even my favorite brand of beef jerky, a detail so specific it felt impossible to dismiss as coincidence.
I stood frozen, the fridge's cool air washing over me as my mind raced. These weren't just generic indulgences—they were my indulgences, the things that once made me feel comforted, seen, and loved.
My heart twisted painfully as questions surged. Why were these here? Was it guilt? Nostalgia?
Or something else entirely?
The sight of those familiar items, so carefully preserved, sent a ripple of unease and longing through me.
My fingers trembled as I reached for the yogurt.
The familiar peach scent hit me, bringing with it a wave of memories—picnics in the sun, lazy mornings in Hybrasil, laughter shared over simple meals. It was a taste of a world I had lost.
But this wasn't Deborah's world. It was Lianora's. These were her favorites, her memories, and Chad had kept them alive in his cold, calculated way.
Why? Was it guilt that compelled him? Or was it something more?
I shook my head, placing the yogurt back and closing the fridge. I couldn't afford to indulge in the past. Instead, I grabbed the milk, poured it into a bowl, and added flakes from the cupboard. I carefully avoided the ones with raisins, an aversion I hadn't outgrown.
I was halfway through my makeshift meal when I felt a presence behind me. Turning, I saw Chad leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
"Out of everything in the fridge, you're eating milk and flakes?" he asked, his voice low and steady.
I blinked, caught off guard. "I… I've never had those other things before," I replied, attempting nonchalance. "I wasn't sure what to expect."
His gaze flicked to my bowl. "No raisins?"
"I don't like them," I said quickly, realizing too late the trap I had walked into.
Chad's lips curved into something between a smile and a smirk. "You don't like them, or you've never liked them?"
His question hung in the air, sharp and deliberate. My heart skipped a beat as I understood his implication. In Ablach, I shouldn't have known how to prepare flakes with milk, let alone have preferences about raisins. These were things Lianora would know—not Deborah.
Chad's sharp eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I felt the weight of his suspicion pressing down on me.
What did he know? And how much longer could I keep him in the dark?