part 27 : shadows and storms

Dominic

He hadn't expected her to walk away that night.

The taste of her lips was still fresh on his mind, lingering with a sweetness that seemed to haunt him. But her absence, her sudden disappearance, left a bitter aftertaste he couldn't shake. He had spent hours—too many hours—convincing himself that it was all just a fleeting moment, a temporary distance. That she'd return when she was ready. But now, he was left in the silence, alone with the unanswered questions that were gnawing at him.

He didn't know what he had expected. That she'd be waiting for him when he reached out? That she'd fall into his arms, sobbing out the pain he knew she carried, needing him to soothe it? The fantasy had played out in his mind a thousand times, but it never felt like the reality.

He sat in the dimly lit room, the shadows casting long lines across the walls, his mind tangled in the web of thoughts about her. About them. About the games they'd been playing—games that neither of them truly knew how to win. Was it his fault? Was it hers? The questions churned in his chest, each one tightening the knot of frustration he could feel in his stomach.

His phone buzzed again. Two unread texts from her.

Don't follow me.

The words stung more than he had ever expected. He stared at the screen, the heat of anger rising in his veins, but he swallowed it down. He wasn't the kind of man to let his emotions get the best of him. Not now. Not in this. He knew this was a moment where pride had no place. He couldn't afford to lash out. Not when things were already so fragile.

He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. He could feel the ache of her absence, and despite everything, he knew better than to give up. No. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

The phone rested in his hands, but his mind was somewhere far away, in a place where he was still tethered to her, where he couldn't let go.

He wasn't going to give up on her.

Damien

Damien had never been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. He didn't let his emotions control him, didn't give them the power to guide his actions. But when Fiona had walked away, leaving him standing there in the dust, his heart felt as if it were being torn from his chest. It wasn't just her leaving him—it was the way she did it. The way it felt like she was slipping through his fingers, something precious, something irreplaceable, vanishing into thin air.

He'd seen her with Dominic earlier that night, and the jealousy? It burned through him like wildfire. He couldn't explain it. He didn't want to explain it. He just knew it stung, deep in his gut, and it wasn't just jealousy—it was a fear that gnawed at him, a fear of losing her completely. That was what terrified him. The thought that she might choose someone else over him.

Fiona had always been there for him. She'd supported him in ways no one else had. She'd laughed with him when the world felt dark, had just been there when no one else had been. And now, to see her so torn—so pulled in a direction he couldn't understand—it left him cold. Every step she took away from him felt like an earthquake under his feet, a tremor that shook everything he thought he knew about himself, about her, about what they were.

He hadn't spoken to her since that night, but he didn't need to. The silence between them was louder than any words could ever be. And it wasn't just the sight of her with Dominic that haunted him—it was the fear of losing her altogether. Of her slipping out of his reach and into someone else's arms.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the floor of his hotel room. The tension in his chest was suffocating, and he couldn't breathe without the weight of her absence pressing on him. Then, his phone buzzed—a new message. An unknown number.

His heart stopped.

It was her.

He opened the message, his pulse quickening as he read the words:

"Are you ready to see me break? You will."

The words felt like a punch to the chest. His stomach churned, the blood rushing in his ears. What was she planning? Fiona wasn't the type to play games—she never had been. But this message, this one line, triggered something inside him. A deep, raw fear. Fear that she was pushing him away for good. Fear that she was preparing to break herself apart in a way he wouldn't be able to fix.

He stood up quickly, the determination flooding through him like a current. If she was going to break, he wouldn't let it happen. Not without a fight. Not without being there for her, even if she didn't want him there. He had to stop her from falling apart.

But how?

Back to Fiona & Lucien

The weekend passed in a blur of soft melodies and peaceful silence. Lucien's cello continued to fill the air with gentle tunes, each note weaving its way through Fiona's thoughts. He didn't push her. He didn't ask her to open up. He just let her breathe, let her exist in her own time, at her own pace.

Fiona, for the first time in what felt like forever, allowed herself to be still. To not have to make decisions, to not have to choose between the chaos of her past and the uncertainty of her present. Lucien didn't ask anything of her. He simply played, allowing the music to speak when words felt like they would fail.

But no matter how hard she tried to distract herself, she couldn't ignore the pull. The question that loomed over her like a dark cloud: What would happen if she faced Dominic or Damien again? Would she fall back into the same patterns? Would she break? Would she choose?

Lucien had asked for nothing. He didn't demand anything from her. He simply let her breathe.

And yet, that simple act of space—of patience—was more than Fiona had ever received before. It was enough. For now. Enough to keep her from breaking completely.