Chapter 21
XXI
LUCIAN
Tyne left hours ago.
Now, night clings to my cottage like a bruise. Fog curls low along the hedgerows, smothering the moonlight. The only sound as I round the bend is the faint rustle of wind through the trees. She had convinced me to get something to eat.
I went reluctantly—I haven’t had the appetite for anything other than revenge recently. But my plan is finished. All I can do now is wait.
Wait for the backlash.
Wait for the institution to finally collapse.
Wait for her.
It crossed my mind to call on her in London—her entire family must be in shambles, especially that witch of a mother she has—but I didn’t think I’d be well-received. To be honest, I’m not even sure what Eden thinks of me.
All I wanted was for her to break up with Silas, to finally choose herself.
And as much as it hurts, if that means that I won’t be able to call her mine, then I’ll accept it. As long as she’s happy and living her life to the fullest. As long as she knows how much she’s loved and…
I swallow thickly at the thought of somebody else loving her.
What the fuck am I even thinking?
I want her to be mine.
My boots crunch the damp gravel. I’d left the porch light off, but there’s a shadow on the steps. I stop and squint.
Is it really?
Eden.
She’s curled small at the top of the stairs, arms wrapped around her knees, like a child trying to make herself invisible.
Her dress is simple, unlike anything I’ve ever seen her wear before.
Pale and rumpled. Her eyes—when she lifts her head—are sunken, fever-bright, and ringed with fatigue. She looks like she’s falling apart.
She’s already back at Augustine?
Eden looks like something sacred and ruined.
My breath catches in my throat.
I hate how fast my pulse jumps. I hate how she still does this to me.
But I walk up the path anyway.
Her voice breaks the silence before I can speak.
“I called off the engagement,” she says. No hello.
Just straight to the point.
“That’s why you’re sitting on my steps? To tell me that you finally broke up with the man who was using you like a human punching bag?” The words slip out sharper than I intended.
She flinches, but takes it on the nose all the same.
Eden coughs, her whole body rattling. “You’ve made your point, Lucian. You were right. I was wrong.” She’s numb, I can tell from the blank stare. “There’s no need to fucking rub it in.”
She cursed.
That’s new.
“I’m sitting on your steps because I have nowhere else to go.” Her voice turns sharp. “But if I’m not welcome here, I can leave.” She stands, shakily. “I’m sure I can figure something out.”
I observe her for a heartbeat.
She looks so different from that night at the party.
Sickly.
“Sit down, Eden.”
She’s standing on the steps so we’re at eye-level. Her brown eyes are fierce, despite the dark circles around them. A different woman stares back at me.
“I’m not telling you to leave,” I relent. “I just…” I run a hand through my hair. It’s grown so long that it’s past my shoulders. “I just didn’t expect those to be the first words you say to me.”
She cocks her head. “Why wouldn’t they be? Isn’t that what you wanted?” Anger flashes in her eyes. “You told the entire world he was broke when you knew I had to marry for money.” She says through clenched teeth. “But you couldn’t even tell me.”
“And what would you have done if I had told you, Eden?” I take a step closer. “Would you have broken up with him? Or would you have called me a liar?”
“I would have confronted him.”
“The same way you confronted him about every other fucked-up thing he’s done to you?”
Silence.
Her fists are balled by her sides.
“Lucian, the past forty-eight hours have ripped me open in places I didn’t know I was capable of bleeding from. The very fabric of my existence has been a lie.” Her eyes turn glassy. “The last thing I need right now is the rejection of the last friend I have.”
I don’t respond.
Only walk up the steps past her. “Come inside,” I mutter.
I hold the door open. She follows without a word.
The kettle whines softly on the stove, slicing through the silence of the cabin like a whisper. Steam curls upward, toward the dim, yellow light. I pour the hot water over a tea bag, the gentle, floral fragrance of chamomile blossoming, soothing.
But something about it still feels insufficient.
I take the mug to her, sliding it across the worn wooden table.
Eden doesn’t reach for it, just curls her fingers tighter into the worn fabric of my sofa. She’s got her knees pressed to her chest, her arms wrapped around her protectively like a shield. Like even though she just poured out her heart to me she still has reservations about trusting me.
Her fingers twitch nervously, and her eyes—now that I’m seeing them in the light, make my stomach drop. They are wide and hollow, her lashes wet and tangled, trails of wetness glittering in the light.
“The tea will help,” I offer.
It snaps her out of whatever trance she’s in.
The time that I spent making the tea for had my mind running wild—of all the destruction I caused on her behalf, of every night I spent lying awake wishing she was curled up beside me, warm and safe, of how I burned this entire place down just to get her to wake up and see what was in front of her all along.
Was I too harsh?
Was there a way to do it without turning her into this?
You didn’t turn her into this, the voice in my head reminds me.
As I settle across from her, guilt settles into my chest all the same. Eden takes the cup shaking hands, taking a deep sip despite how hot it is.
“I…” Her breath stutters, catching on the edge of her lips. When she finally speaks, her voice is hoarse and ragged, every word raw and blistering, pouring forth blood from an open wound. “I was wrong about everything.”
She looks like she’s about to unload everything in her soul.
I’m merely here to listen, to help, to mend whatever pieces I can.
“After the party…” Another breath. “I found out so many things.” Her voice falters, then steadies as she unravels the secrets, sharp and bitter like rusted blades. “My mother…”
Her breath trembles, fragile and hesitant, but she pushes forward, a quiet bravery beneath her heartbreak. Agnes Pembroke’s gift, a key to the truths concealed by Viscountess Evelyn’s ruthless hand. She found fragments of lives once lived in secret whispers.
Magnolia, the name rolling off her tongue. Her real mother, erased by scandal and betrayal, hidden by layers of cold, calculated lies. When she murmurs the words “illegitimate child,” her voice is not fragile; it is fierce, trembling with anger.
My revelation at their engagement party didn’t just fracture her relationship with Silas.
It destroyed her entire life.
And she’s struggling to pick up pieces.
A few more sips of tea and she comes completely undone, fracturing visibly, shoulders collapsing, body shaking with a grief too deep, too vast for words. She doubles over, fists pressed tightly against her trembling lips.
Every silent shudder wracks her entirely.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve crossed the room, sinking beside her into the couch. I crouch beside her—hesitant, careful not to touch, allowing her the space to shatter and rebuild on her own terms.
She lifts her face, bloodshot eyes searching mine desperately. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” she whispers, voice barely audible.
I can’t hold it in anymore.
Gently, I pull her close. She trembles against me, her skin cold and clammy. This close, I can feel each breath hacking its way up her lungs. Silent tears soak my neck where she’s rested her head.
“You’re Eden,” I whisper into her tangled hair, each word a gentle promise. “You’re eighteen. It’s totally fine to not know who you are. You’re supposed to spend this time figuring it out.”
She breaks again, crying until exhaustion silences her. Her weight shifts against me, going limp in my embrace. I wrap her in a blanket, and watch her slowly soften into sleep. She looks peaceful for the first time in forever.
Her lashes fan softly against bruised skin, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling gently. Her fingers twitch occasionally, cold sweat beaded on her forehead. Even now, in devastation and silence, she holds the kind of fierce and tragic beauty that I find impossible to look away from.
She came to me tonight, seeking shelter.
Maybe Tyne was right about it all. Maybe I don’t have to hold it all against her.
Leaning forward, I gently press my lips to her forehead, whispering softly into the silence. “I love you Eden, and I’ll be by your side forever and wherever you want to go.”
I hope it reaches her dreams, a gentle reassurance.