Chapter 10: Kisses and Tears

Alia's body went stiff. Her instincts screamed at her to resist, but her thoughts were a chaotic tangle, leaving her utterly clueless about what to do. In her previous life as a thief, she had navigated countless dangerous missions and lived a rough, unpolished life. She had even disguised herself as a man and shared rooms with other men. Yet, never before had she been so close to a man's essence like this. The situation felt overwhelmingly intimate.

What made it worse—or perhaps more perplexing—was that this man before her wasn't just any man. He was stunningly handsome, exuding an innate masculinity that left her both unsettled and faintly spellbound.

Her internal alarms blared, but her body refused to obey. Her hands clutched at the bedsheet, her chest heaving with rapid breaths. After all, the man leaning over her was, in name at least, her husband. His nearness, his intimacy—it could all be justified. If she rejected him now, wouldn't it raise his suspicions? Would he think she was no longer the Livia he remembered?

Marcellus seemed completely oblivious to her inner turmoil. His movements became bolder yet oddly tender. One hand brushed lightly across her cheek, his gaze intense and burning. He lowered himself closer, pressing her into the bed. The possessiveness in his actions was unmistakable as he leaned toward her lips. His breath warmed her face like a scorching flame, rendering her mind blank.

And then, he stopped.

His eyes, locked on her face, caught sight of something. A tear had silently escaped her eye, trailing down her cheek. That single drop shattered an invisible barrier, leaving a flicker of surprise and hesitation in his expression.

Marcellus froze completely. Slowly, he lifted his body just enough to create space between them. For a moment, he simply gazed at her, as if that tear had pierced through to a vulnerable corner of his heart. His voice, when he finally spoke, was heavy with conflicted emotions.

"Livia…" he murmured, his tone tinged with doubt and remorse.

Alia, too, finally became aware of the tear. She blinked in confusion, lifting a trembling hand to wipe it away, her clumsy movements betraying her inner panic. She didn't understand why she was crying. Was it her soul rejecting the closeness of this man, both familiar and foreign? Or was it this body's instinctive repulsion toward him? She couldn't even tell if the tear belonged to her own feelings or the residual memories of the real Livia.

After a brief silence, Marcellus sat up fully, his expression unreadable. He spoke in a quiet voice, as though every word weighed heavily on him.

"I thought your amnesia meant you had forgotten all the unpleasant memories. And honestly, I hoped you had… It would have been better that way. What happened back then was an accident—I never wanted to explain it further." There was a trace of fatigue in his tone, but what stood out more was the restraint and regret laced through his words.

He paused, his gaze lingering on her pale face before adding, "When you forgot the past, I believed it was a sign from above. A chance for us to start over. But now… your body still rejects me. Perhaps it's because I hurt you once." His voice grew softer, a faint sadness weaving through it.

"Very well." He suddenly let out a low chuckle, a sound that seemed calm on the surface but carried an undercurrent of sorrow and resignation. "I won't force you. When you've regained your memories completely, I'll make you fall in love with me again. I'll wait until you accept me."

With that, Marcellus rose from the bed, his movements deliberate but heavy. He dressed with quiet efficiency, a composed air masking the weight he carried. Without sparing her another glance, he left the room, his retreat marked by a faint, indescribable melancholy.

The soft click of the door closing left the room in profound silence. Alone, Alia sat on the bed, her fingers still clutching the sheets, her heart swirling with a storm of unnamable emotions.

Everything had happened so quickly. She bit her lower lip gently, frustration and self-reproach rising in her chest.

"What am I doing?" she muttered to herself, chastising her reaction. A seasoned thief who once walked on the razor's edge—since when had she become so weak? If Marcellus hadn't stopped when he did, would she have succumbed to the heat of the moment and the overpowering force of his presence?

"Pathetic…" she whispered, her grip tightening on the soft fabric, her knuckles whitening. Yet, amidst her frustration, a different emotion emerged—an unwelcome tenderness. Despite his assertiveness, Marcellus hadn't crossed the line. Instead, he had pulled back upon noticing her tears. His quiet statement, "I won't force you," carried a restraint and sincerity that stirred something deep within her.

"He… he still respects Livia," she thought, her heart softening against her will. But that softening only added to her confusion. How could a man who seemed so steadfast and tender eventually become the person who would take her life? The past he had mentioned, the "unpleasant memories"—what were they? And how had this marriage fractured so deeply?

Questions churned in her mind like a rising tide, refusing to settle. "What happened before all this…" she murmured to herself, her eyes alight with a need for answers. The mysteries swirled together into an intricate web, entangling her heart and making it impossible to find peace.

Even more unsettling was the thought of the tragedy to come. What chain of events could transform a seemingly devoted, if reserved, husband into a murderer? Was there something hidden within his words tonight that hinted at the truth—or were there still layers of secrets to uncover?

She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as she tried to calm herself. Yet no matter how she adjusted her breathing, the unease pressing on her chest refused to fade. Though the blanket covered her tightly, she couldn't shake the chill that seeped into her soul.

This night, it seemed, would be sleepless.