Ezra Everhart
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The garden was quiet, the crisp autumn air still, as I watched Celine sitting alone near the roses. She looked lost in thought, her gaze distant, probably reliving memories I could never reach. Her fingers traced the edge of a flower, her lips pressed together in that soft way she did when she was trying not to cry. I knew what haunted her-her father. He'd been a great man, a farmer whose work had fed our entire estate for years. His death had broken something in her, a shadow of grief that lingered every time she sat in this garden.
I approached her, my footsteps barely making a sound on the gravel path. I wasn't sure what I intended to say, but I needed to be near her. Something in me pulled toward her, as it always had.
"Celine," I called her name, my voice flat, cold, as it always was. Even though she was the only person I had ever cared about, my expression never softened for her, not even once. I didn't know how to smile, not for her or anyone. "Are you alright?" I asked, though the question felt mechanical. It wasn't in my nature to sound comforting.
She turned at the sound of my voice, her face briefly lighting with surprise before she quickly masked it. She stood up, brushing the dirt from her simple gown. Her eyes, always so gentle, now held a strange distance I wasn't used to seeing in her.
"Yes, I'm fine," she replied, her voice soft but firm. She took a small step back from me, a distance that felt deliberate. It wasn't like her to retreat, not from me. That gap between us suddenly felt larger than the few feet it physically was.
My brows drew together as I watched her. I was confused, though I didn't show it. I never showed anything. Why was she pulling away? She had never done that before. Something was wrong. "Why are you avoiding me?" I asked, stepping closer.
"I'm not avoiding you, Ezra," she said, though I could hear the slight tremor in her voice. She took another step back, creating more distance. Her hands clasped tightly in front of her, as if to keep herself grounded.
"You are," I stated coldly, taking another step toward her, refusing to let this distance remain between us. Celine, the girl who always stayed close, was now pushing me away, and I didn't understand why.
She let out a soft sigh, her shoulders sagging under some invisible weight. "Ezra... you're married now," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You shouldn't be here with me like this. It's... it's not appropriate."
Her words hit me like a blade to the chest. Married. That cursed word. To a woman I despised. Irina. My wife in name only, the woman my family had forced upon me, shackling me to a life I didn't want. I felt my jaw clench at the reminder, a cold fury simmering beneath my skin. But I ignored it, ignored her words, stepping closer still.
"And since when did you care about propriety?" I asked, my tone sharper than I intended. "You were never one to distance yourself from me before."
Celine's eyes flicked up to meet mine, a rare defiance flashing in their depths. "It's different now," she said, her voice more firm, though it still held that softness that was so inherently hers. "You belong to someone else, Ezra. And I... I can't be that person anymore."
My chest tightened at her words, but I didn't let it show. I never let anything show. "So you'd rather run away?" I asked, my voice cutting through the tension. "Is that what this is?"
"I'm not running away," she replied, her voice faltering slightly. She took another step back, putting even more space between us, and I hated it. "I'm just... doing what's right."
I stepped forward again, refusing to let her escape me. "And what's 'right'?" I asked coldly. "You think staying away from me is right?"
"Yes," she answered, her voice trembling now. "You're married, Ezra. You have a wife, and I can't..." She paused, her breath catching. "I can't be part of this anymore."
I stared at her, my expression hardening. "Irina is nothing to me," I said, my voice low and cold. "You know that. You've always known that."
Her face twisted into something I couldn't quite place-was it frustration? Sadness? She looked like she was battling something within herself, something I couldn't understand. "That doesn't change the fact that you're still her husband," she whispered, her gaze falling to the ground.
I was growing more frustrated, though I wouldn't show it. Why was she acting like this? Why now? "Irina is nothing but a woman who wants fame and money," I said sharply. "That's the only reason she's playing nice. You know what she did to you, Celine. Have you forgotten already?"
Celine flinched at my words, her hand instinctively moving to her wrist. My eyes followed the movement, and my chest tightened with anger. The scar. The mark Irina had left on her all those years ago, when we were still children. That day still haunted me. Irina had poured boiling water on her out of spite, and though she had screamed and cried, no one had done anything to punish her. The mark was still there, a faint reminder of the cruelty Celine had endured.
"She hasn't changed," I continued, my voice colder now. "She's pretending to be kind, but it's all a facade. Don't let her fool you."
Celine's gaze hardened slightly, surprising me. "People can change, Ezra," she said softly, but with a conviction I didn't expect. "Maybe Irina has changed too."
I stared at her, unblinking, my jaw tightening. "You think someone like her can change?" I asked, my voice filled with disbelief. "She's been cruel her whole life. People like her don't change."
Celine didn't answer right away, her fingers brushing against the scar on her wrist. For a moment, I thought I had convinced her, that she would see Irina for what she was. But then she looked up at me, her eyes filled with something I couldn't quite decipher.
"Maybe you don't believe in change, Ezra," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I do."
I felt a sharp pang in my chest at her words, though I didn't understand why. I hated that she was defending Irina, the woman who had caused her so much pain. But more than that, I hated that she was pushing me away. I hated that she believed in someone who didn't deserve it.
I didn't care about Irina. I never would. But I couldn't stand the idea of losing Celine, the only person I had ever cared about.
But as I looked at her now, standing before me, her resolve unshakable, I realized that maybe I had already lost her.
And it made my chest feel cold.
"I don't care what you think of Irina," I said finally, my voice low and hard. "But don't forget who she really is, Celine. Don't let her fool you."
Celine didn't respond. She simply stood there, her gaze locked on mine, her expression unreadable.