When Marcus realized I was truly gone, he couldn't bear it. Instead of silence, he chose stories—stories that painted me as shallow, ungrateful, heartless. He told anyone who would listen that I had left because he was broke, that I had gone to someone richer, someone with more. His words were sharp with bitterness, dressed as jokes but heavy with accusation.
Some of his friends joined in, nodding as if they had seen it coming.
"She'll leave the moment you have nothing," they reminded him, their voices smug. They turned a blind eye to how I had endured nights of tears, days of neglect, months of carrying a love that only weighed me down.
They pretended not to see how I had been treated, because it was easier to blame me than to admit their friend had failed.
But I knew the truth. I didn't leave because of money. I left because I wanted peace. And peace, strangely, began with Nathan.
It was late one evening when the shift truly began. I had freshened up, my hair still damp, and slipped into a loose round-neck shirt Nathan had handed me earlier. It was far too big, the sleeves almost covering my hands, but it wrapped me in comfort I hadn't felt in years.
I walked into the living room quietly, phone in hand, trying to act casual, though my heart reminded me this was my first time in his space. He was seated on the couch, eyes locked on the glowing screen, fingers moving swiftly as he played his video game.
But the moment I sat down across from him, legs crossed, scrolling through my phone, the air shifted.
I could feel it—his gaze. Heavy, steady, unrelenting.
At first, I tried to ignore it, focusing on the bright screen in my hands. But every second, my skin burned with the awareness of his eyes tracing me. It was awkward, intoxicating, and I wasn't sure whether to look up or look away.
Finally, he placed the controller down with a soft click. Silence wrapped around us.
He stood, walked over, and without hesitation, lifted me gently, guiding me onto his lap. My breath caught. My pulse quickened. His hands rested firmly on me, protective, and our faces were so close I could see the quiet storm in his eyes.
"You're so beautiful," he said softly, his voice trembling like he was speaking a truth he'd held back too long. "Why would any man treat you badly? What more could a man possibly want?"
I swallowed hard, my cheeks heating. My lips parted but no words came out. He smiled faintly at my silence, as if even my blush was an answer.
"You don't see it, do you?" he murmured. "The way you walk into a room and change everything. The way your smile makes the world look lighter. Elena, you… you're everything."
The sound of my name on his lips felt like a prayer.
My heart wavered between fear and longing. I wanted to believe him, to soak in the warmth of his words, yet shadows of Marcus's cruelty lingered in the back of my mind. What if this, too, was temporary? What if this peace vanished the way the old love had?
And then his lips brushed mine. Soft. Searching. Slow.
It was not the hungry kiss of someone eager to take, but the careful kiss of someone asking permission without words.
I froze for half a second, then melted into it, the sweetness unraveling the knots in my chest. He pulled back just enough to whisper against my mouth, "You taste like something I've been searching for."
My breath trembled as he kissed me again, this time deeper, more certain. I clung to the fabric of his shirt, drawn into the tide of his touch.
One kiss led to another until he stood, carrying me easily in his arms, his lips never leaving mine. The world blurred as he guided us into his room, laying me gently on the bed as though I were something fragile.
His hands traced me softly, reverently, exploring but never rushing. His lips brushed my cheek, my neck, his voice breaking between kisses.
"I won't hurt you. I won't leave you. I'm already falling for you."
Each word was a thread weaving through the broken places inside me, stitching me together in ways I hadn't known I needed.
And as the night unfolded, it wasn't just passion. It wasn't just desire. It was healing. A slow unravelling of the chains I had carried for too long, replaced with whispers, warmth, and the faint promise of something that felt like home.
While Marcus drowned himself in bitterness, I was beginning to learn what it meant to be seen, cherished, and wanted—not for what I could give, but simply for who I was.