Chapter 80: She’s Never Coming Back

Marcellus stumbled through the door of his study, his footsteps heavy and unsteady. The dim light of the overcast sky seeped in, casting long, oppressive shadows across the room. The desk was piled high with documents, but he couldn't bring himself to even glance at them. Instead, he reached into the hidden compartment of a mechanism box and retrieved the object that haunted him—his diary. Its cover was worn from countless readings, the edges frayed by his desperate hands.

He slowly sat down, opening the familiar pages. Each one was marked by the force of his pen, the pressure so intense it almost tore through the paper. These words, born of his anguish and struggles, seemed to shout accusations at him, a mirror of his own failings.

As he flipped through the diary, he saw the very passages Livia had once read—his cruel words, written under the influence of the "curse," and his later resolutions after coming to his senses. These pages bore the full weight of his regret, a testament to everything he had never been able to explain to her. It wasn't that he didn't want to—it was that he couldn't. The consequences of revealing the truth were a risk he hadn't dared to take. All he could do was carry the burden of it alone.

"I'm really a bad guy" he murmured, his voice hollow. His gaze was distant, and he raised a trembling hand, slapping his own face. The sharp sting of the blow was nothing compared to the agony clawing at his heart.

A guttural sigh escaped his throat as he buried his face in his hands, fingers digging into his hair as though trying to pull the pain from his chest.

"I owe her… so much." His voice cracked, choking on the words that clawed at his throat.

His eyes fell on the diary again, the letters on the page blurring as tears welled up. Suddenly, he snapped it shut with a decisive motion, as if performing a ritual. Standing up, he turned his gaze to the storm clouds rolling across the sky outside.

"No matter the cost, I must find the 'Grail.'" His voice was low but carried an unshakable resolve.

"It's the only way to set things right. I owe Livia a future, one that's whole… and I owe myself redemption."

Back in the bedroom, Marcellus's weary body seemed to sag under the weight of his emotions. He pushed the door open, and a familiar scent immediately enveloped him, stopping him in his tracks.

Everything in the room was untouched. The bed remained perfectly made, its soft linens still carrying the faint trace of her presence. Slowly, he approached, reaching out a hand to brush the fabric. His fingertips trailed over the familiar textures, and each sensation pulled him deeper into his memories.

This was their shared sanctuary, a space where laughter and love had once intertwined. He could almost see her smile, hear her gentle laugh, and feel the warmth of her leaning into him. Even the moments of silence and distance between them were etched into the walls of this room, making it impossible to forget her.

Standing by the bedpost, his face twisted with conflicting emotions. He knew Livia likely no longer trusted him, yet these memories only fueled his determination.

"I can't let it end like this," he murmured, his fists clenching with renewed resolve.

"I will fix this—no matter the cost."

Marcellus sat down on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes as waves of remorse washed over him. He let himself sink into the memories, his mind replaying every moment they had shared. The regret was a sharp, relentless pain, but beneath it lay a flicker of hope, a driving force that pushed him to rise above his despair.

He knew the path ahead would be treacherous, but as long as there was a sliver of a chance, she would remain his guiding light—the reason he couldn't afford to give up.

Time ticked by, the stillness of the room broken only by the faint ticking of the clock. Marcellus eventually found himself back on the sofa, staring at the dim glow of the ceiling lamp as it flickered with the waning night. The weight of the evening pressed heavily on his chest, and the sound of his fingers drumming against the armrest punctuated the silence.

Outside, the world was cloaked in darkness, the occasional call of a bird cutting through the stillness. He glanced at the clock again, his lips curling into a bitter smile.

"So… she's never coming back," he whispered, his voice barely audible, carrying the depth of his sorrow.

Marcellus knew that the argument earlier that day had likely driven Livia away for good. She had every reason to be furious with him, every right to put as much distance as possible between them. The secrets he had kept, the truths he hadn't dared to share—each one had built an insurmountable wall between them.

When she had lost her memories, he had clung to the fragile hope of a fresh start. But now that her memories had returned, all the mistrust, the hurt, and the pain had resurfaced, casting them back into the chasm that had once separated them.

He buried his face in his hands again, fingers gripping his hair as the weight of his despair threatened to crush him. He had no reason to believe she would forgive him, no reason to think she would ever want to return.

"She left me… and it's the punishment I deserve." His voice was a hoarse whisper, his chest heaving as though the grief was tearing him apart from the inside.

What Marcellus didn't know, however, was that Livia hadn't left out of anger or resolve. Far from it. At that very moment, she was trapped in a place of danger, her hands and feet bound, her vision obscured by a blindfold. In the shadows of a dilapidated warehouse, she struggled against her restraints as the ominous plans of her captors unfolded around her.

And yet, Marcellus remained in his self-imposed torment, oblivious to the peril she faced. His guilt and sorrow blinded him to the greater crisis looming just beyond his reach.