Empire of Lies and Flames (Ruins of Power #1)

Chapter 27

RENéE

“I made breakfast. You should get up and eat something,” Javier said softly. I kept my eyes shut, feigning sleep, but we both knew the act wasn’t fooling him. “I’ll be back around noon.”

He lingered for a moment, waiting. I didn’t move. His footsteps drew closer, stopping just beside the bed. My heart thudded in my chest, but I stayed still, my breath shallow. After a beat of silence, he sighed and walked away. The front door clicked shut behind him, and I finally exhaled, peeling myself off the bed.

Three days. I’d been staying with him for three days, and the weight of it all was suffocating. We barely talked—well, I barely talked. Javier tried. He updated me on his day, told me what was happening at work, how Pearl was doing, and even what was going on at my apartment. He was trying so hard to be there for me. So caring. So patient. So… loving.

And I didn’t deserve it.

I paced the room, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. How could I let him be so close when I felt this broken? This shattered version of me wasn’t who he deserved. He deserved someone who could meet his gaze without flinching, someone strong enough to hold their own. Someone who wasn’t constantly crumbling under the weight of their past.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t even look him in the eye. Every glance from him felt like a spotlight shining on all the cracks I’d been trying to hide.

I stopped pacing and sank onto the couch, my hands trembling. How did I let myself fall apart like that? In front of him, of all people? Javier had seen me at my weakest, and I hated it. I was supposed to be strong—the one who kept it together, who didn’t let the past dictate her every move. Yet here I was, unraveling in his arms like the scared, fragile girl I thought I’d left behind years ago.

What must he think of me now? The question gnawed at me, over and over. He probably thought I was weak. Broken. Unlovable. The idea alone made it hard to breathe. I hadn’t been able to talk to him, hadn’t dared to look at him. I was too afraid of what I might see in his eyes—pity, disappointment... or worse, regret.

I rubbed my arms, trying to chase away the chill that clung to me, even though the room was warm. My skin felt too tight, my chest too heavy. I wished, with everything in me, that the ground would just open up and swallow me whole. Anything to escape this horrible vulnerability.

But there was no escape. Only this room. Only his absence. And the lingering ache of everything I couldn’t say.

After hours of hiding in his bed, I finally pulled myself out of the room. Three days. I’d been holed up in there for three days, barely eating, barely moving. Javier kept leaving food—waffles, scrambled eggs, pancakes. I ignored most of it, but today... today, I was starving. I found the pancakes and eggs on the counter, cold but still edible. I picked at them in silence, each bite feeling like a small victory, even if my appetite was out of necessity, not desire.

I didn’t expect his apartment to feel this... alive . I thought it would be clean, almost clinical. Empty, like someone who didn’t spend enough time there to care. But it wasn’t. Books lined every wall, crammed into floor-to-ceiling shelves. Not just for show either—they were worn, read, and lived in. The scent of old paper mixed with the faintest hint of coffee lingering in the air.

And then there were the flowers. Carnations, sitting right there on the kitchen counter. They were wilting now, petals curling at the edges, but I couldn’t take my eyes off them.

Javier has flowers in his kitchen?

I blinked, surprised at how out of place—yet right—it felt.

I let my fingers graze the petals, soft despite their fading state. A quiet smile tugged at my lips. Strange. Unexpected. I wandered through the apartment, my steps slow, and careful, like I was intruding. Then I saw it—a glass-topped table in the living room, and beneath it, more flowers. Dried, pressed, and preserved. Roses. Lilies. Camellias.

My chest tightened, and I knelt beside the table, my breath hitching. Those flowers... They’re mine. My gaze flicked back to the carnations in the kitchen. Red carnations—the same ones I got four days ago. My heart thudded painfully as I stared at the dried blooms beneath the glass.

Roses, lilies, camellias... all of them. Every bouquet I’ve received over the past few months.

My hands trembled. No. No way. I swallowed hard, my mind racing. Javier?

I couldn’t stop the thought from spiraling. Couldn’t stop the pieces from falling into place. Five years. Five years of flowers, arriving when I needed them most when I thought I was utterly alone. I never knew who sent them. I never let myself believe it was more than a kind stranger.

But now? It all made sense.

Javier kept them. He sent every bouquet, knowing exactly when I needed them, even when I didn’t know. He never said a word. Just quietly... there. Giving me beauty when I felt surrounded by darkness.

My breath hitched, sharp, and painful. I didn’t know how to process it—shock, disbelief, something raw and overwhelming. My fingers hovered over the glass, tracing the outline of a dried lily, as if touching it could tether me to reality.

And just like that, the weight I’d been carrying—the fear, the nightmares, the suffocating guilt—it cracked, then shattered. Gone.

In its place, an undeniable truth. Javier Densmore had been with me all along. Even when I thought I had no one, he was there. Always there.

Why? Why was he doing all of this for me? The flowers, the quiet care, the endless patience. Why now, when all those times I needed him— really needed him—he gave me nothing? No words, no reassurance. Just silence.

Now here he was, hiding behind bouquets and quiet gestures, doing everything except the one thing I needed—being present. Why now? What was the point when he couldn’t even speak when I opened my heart to him? When I stood there, raw and vulnerable, asking him why he cared , and he shut down. Closed me out.

I ran my hands through my hair, pacing the length of the living room, my chest tightening with frustration. The question gnawed at me, sharp and relentless. I needed answers. Now.