CHAPTER 152: HEALING {II}

ALEXIA – POV

Warmth.

That’s the first thing I register. Not the cold, hard ground. Not the wind biting at my skin or the ache in my spine from curling into myself on the steps like some discarded animal.

Just... warmth.

Something soft brushing through my hair.

A hand?

And beneath me, solid muscle. A heartbeat. Steady. Human.

My breath catches.

I don’t move. I’m afraid to. Afraid this is another dream—like the ones that lull me into safety just to shatter with screaming.

But this one feels different.

Slower.

Realer.

And then I smell him.

Leather. Cedarwood. A whisper of scotch.

Aiden.

My chest twists.

I don’t open my eyes. I can’t. Because if I do, this illusion might dissolve. And I—I need it right now. Just for a moment. Just to pretend.

He’s holding me.

Not dragging me.

Not shouting.

Just... holding me.

I curl into him tighter, fists gripping the front of his shirt like it’s the only real thing I have left. I feel the fabric wrinkle beneath my fingers, feel the rise and fall of his breathing.

Please, I beg silently. Please don’t take this away yet. Just one minute more.

It has to be a trick. Or a hallucination. I’m probably still lying on the porch. Maybe I never made it out of that nightmare in my head.

Because Aiden doesn’t do gentle.

He doesn’t comfort. He doesn’t hold me like something precious.

He hates me.

He’s supposed to hate me.

And maybe I deserve that.

After everything.

After the palace. After the lies. After all the blood between us.

So what is this?

Why is he here, arms wrapped around me like he’s the one afraid of letting me go?

Tears prick the corners of my eyes again.

No. Don’t cry. Not now. Not when he’s finally warm. He’ll disappear if you cry. You’ll ruin it.

But my body doesn’t listen.

The sob builds slowly in my chest and leaks out in a breathy hitch against his collarbone.

I bite my lip, but the truth is already there.

I don’t deserve this.

Not his hands in my hair.

Not the quiet patience in his stillness.

Not the soft warmth of his chest where my head rests.

Not even the damn blanket tucked around me.

I deserve to be outside. Cold. Alone. I deserve the ache. The shaking. The voices in my head telling me I’m nothing.

Because I was cruel.

I hurt him.

I let power make a monster out of me.

And now?

Now he’s being kind?

A broken sob tears from my throat before I can stop it. I whisper into the hollow of his chest, raw and shaking.

"I’m sorry..."

I don’t know if he hears it.

Or if it matters.

But I say it anyway. Because I need to. Because some part of me still believes that if I speak the guilt out loud, maybe it’ll stop eating me from the inside out.

Maybe it’ll make sense.

Maybe I’ll wake up, and he’ll be gone, and I can go back to deserving the emptiness.

But he doesn’t move.

He just tightens his grip.

And in that silence, I let go of the air I’ve been holding in for years.

Maybe I’m not ready to believe I deserve this.

But for now, just for tonight—

I cling to it like it’s the only thing I’ve got left.

*******

I don’t know how long we sit there like that.

Me, curled up in his arms like a ghost trying to remember what it felt like to be real. Him, quiet, unmoving, like he’s scared if he breathes too hard I’ll vanish.

Part of me wants to.

Vanish.

Slip away before this moment can break me even more.

But the way his hand keeps brushing my hair... slow, tender... it’s not the touch of someone pretending.

It’s not rage disguised as comfort.

It’s something else.

And it terrifies me.

Because if it’s real... if he means it...

Then why now?

Why after I’ve shattered into pieces too small to fit back together?

I lift my eyes, just a little. Not all the way. I don’t have that kind of bravery yet. But I glance at the line of his jaw, the muscles shifting like he’s chewing back something bitter.

His eyes flick down when he notices.

They’re not cold.

Not blank.

Not gleaming with that sharp fury I’ve grown used to.

They’re soft.

Haunted.

Still Aiden—but a version I never thought I’d be allowed to see again.

I open my mouth. Close it. My voice feels trapped in my throat.

But I manage a whisper. "Why... are you doing this?"

His jaw tightens.

I see the guilt rise like a storm behind his eyes before he looks away, just briefly.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he leans forward, just slightly, resting his forehead against mine.

The warmth of him almost breaks me again.

And still—still—I can’t stop myself.

"You don’t have to pretend," I whisper. "I know you hate me."

A pause.

Then a soft shake of his head.

"I did," he murmurs. "But not like this. Not anymore."

His hand settles on my back. No pressure. Just there.

Solid.

I blink back the tears welling again.

"But I deserve it..." I say quietly. "All of it. The punishment. The isolation. You don’t know what I did to you in the palace—what I thought. The way I let myself—"

"You were hurting," he interrupts gently. "You were lost. And I didn’t see it until tonight."

His voice cracks at the end, like the truth is heavier than he expected.

I close my eyes.

"You don’t understand, Aiden. I didn’t just make mistakes. I chose to be cruel. I wanted to hurt you."

"I know," he says quietly. "And I wanted to ruin you."

That makes me flinch.

He notices.

And his hand on my back curls tighter, pulling me into him until there’s no space between us.

"But seeing you like this..." His voice falters. "You were already ruined long before I ever touched you. And I was too blind to see it."

The sob rips out of me before I can stop it.

I press my face into his chest and cry again—not like before. Not the quiet surrender.

This time it’s messier. Sharper. A knot of grief and longing and guilt all tangled into one.

His arms don’t let go.

He just holds me.

Lets me fall apart without turning away.

I don’t deserve this.

I know that.

I deserve his hate.

But gods help me—I still love him.

I never stopped.

Even when he spat cruel words.

Even when he looked at me like I was filth.

Even when he walked past me like I was invisible.

I loved him in silence. In shame.

And now—like this, in the safety of his arms—I ache with that same love, only deeper. Wilder. More dangerous.

Because if this is a lie... if he changes his mind tomorrow...

I won’t survive it.

But I stay.

I let him rock me gently, like I’m something precious.

And maybe—for now—that’s enough.