War doesn't determine who's right, it determines who's left.

And we had declared war.

The world outside was drenched in muted grays, with the occasional flash of distant lightning casting fleeting shadows. I watched the rain fall, streaking the window in a blur of water and light. Eloise had been painting something for the past half hour, but I hadn't looked. I didn't need to. The way her eyes flicked between me and the canvas told me enough.

I decided to ignore it. It wasn't fair to her. To give her hope. How could I make her understand that all the space in my heart was already taken, when she didn't even know you existed? That this art she was trying to put colours into once used to be a cherished piece in someone's monochrome world. I couldn't bring myself to explain. How could I? It felt impossible to put into words.

I felt the familiar ache in my chest, the part of me that wasn't hers and couldn't be. The part of me that was still, and always would be, with you.

A sharp breath caught in my throat, and I shoved the thoughts down. I couldn't afford to dwell on you now-not with Eloise here. Not with the way she gently swept her brush over the canvas, her brow furrowed in concentration.

But it was there-the space you left behind.

I exhaled slowly and turned back to the window. The way the room felt-distant, like I was stuck somewhere between two lives-was becoming unbearable. I felt disconnected, like I was floating in an empty space with no clear path forward.

The silence in the room pressed against me, not the comfortable kind, but one that felt like a heavy weight I couldn't shake. Eloise's soft brushstrokes filled the void, yet I couldn't focus on the rhythm of them, couldn't let myself be drawn into her world. Every time I tried, I was yanked back into reality-the one where I was married to a woman I couldn't love, no matter how hard I tried.

The world outside blurred with the rain, and I felt the distance between me and it widen. A distance I couldn't cross. I was stuck in a place I didn't belong.

I turned from the window and glanced at her. She was always lost in her art, so absorbed that nothing could break her concentration. That was, perhaps, the thing I admired most about her-how she could lose herself in creation, something I could never do. She had a kind of peace about her, something I couldn't touch. And yet, despite it all, she still found a way to see me.

I wasn't sure how she did it. She knew my name, not me. She never pushed, never pried. She just... accepted. She accepted me. But I couldn't stop myself from wondering how long that would last.

Eloise's presence beside me didn't bring comfort, not the way it should. She was quiet, her thoughts mostly expressed through her art, and I admired that about her. But that same silence only served to amplify the things I could never say, the things I couldn't admit.

I wasn't sure if she knew what it meant to be as lost as I was, to be tethered to a past that would never truly let you go. Not even the soft comfort of her presence could make me forget the pull of your name in my mind.

I didn't belong here. Not truly.

She must have felt my gaze cause she peered up from the painting, her brush suspended in the air. I mustered a small smile and she delivered one of her own. The rain was slowing now, fading from a torrential downpour to a steady drizzle.

"Have you had dinner yet?" I asked, my voice hoarse from the weight of everything unsaid.

She shook her head, the movement subtle. No.

My brow furrowed, concern tugging at me. My eyes moved to the clock on the wall. Late. Too late. "But it's late..."

I stepped behind her wheelchair, my gaze moving down to the canvas. She hadn't noticed yet, so I took a moment to look. My guess was right. The portrait was me. And God, I looked so lost. So utterly empty.

"Did I really look that miserable standing by the window just now?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, though I regretted it immediately.

Her hands twitched at her sides, her fingers moving in quick, frantic motions, as though trying to explain. Trying to reassure me that that wasn't how she saw me. I couldn't let her do that. Not this time.

I reached out, catching her hands gently, stilling the erratic dance of her fingers. I could feel the tension in her, the way she always got so worked up over the smallest things. It made me smile, though I tried not to show it.

"Relax, Lou," I chuckled, my voice softer than I intended. "I was just messing with you. You're an amazing artist. I'm honored to be drawn by you."

Her hands stilled under mine, the frantic motion halting as if she could finally breathe again. The flustered tension in her chest melted away, and she gave me a small, hesitant smile in return.

I wished I could feel more. Wished I could be what she deserved, but... How could I be, when a piece of me was still somewhere else, with someone who didn't belong with me in my present?

Eloise tilted her head slightly, studying me, but I couldn't meet her gaze for too long. The weight of everything pressing down on me-on us-was too much. I could feel the emptiness, the uncertainty in my chest, growing deeper. I didn't know where I was going anymore, or what to do. But as she looked at me, waiting for something.

"Let's have dinner first. After that I'll stand there as long as you want so you can finish your drawing."

***

We reached the long dining table, where maids bustled, arranging the food with their usual precision. Eloise scanned the room briefly, probably looking for my mother. She seemed to haven't arrived yet. Of course. She was probably busy, somewhere outside of this place, trying to seduce some goon.

Dragging out a chair I settled beside Eloise. "Revera will be late. Let's just eat."

I reached for the food, not really hungry, but the routine felt necessary. Familiar.

The sound of utensils scraping across plates filled the air, and I found myself lost in the rhythm of it. The food was always plentiful, but the emptiness in my chest remained unchanged.

I could tell she sensed the distance between us. I could hear the casual dismissal in her sighs, but I couldn't feel the same ease. It was my fault that we were all suffering. You. Me. Eloise.

I glanced over at her. The warmth in her eyes was always there, like an anchor, but it felt... distant. How could I continue to pretend when the real part of me, the one that still belonged to you, was struggling to breathe?

That's when our eyes met again. Expectant. "What?" I raised a brow slurping in a long strand of noodle. She set her cutlery down as she prepared to hand her thoughts.

"I have something to tell you," she signed.

I looked at her, an eyebrow lifting. "Can't it wait?"

"No." Her hands moved swiftly, signing with practiced speed, though the hesitation was clear. "I'm not going to get to talk to you like this for the next couple of days when the concert begins."

I paused, my focus shifting to her. "Go on then."

Her hands faltered for a moment, then began again. "There's an event this Friday. An art exhibition."

I raised an eyebrow. "You finalized the dates already?"

She nodded, lips curling into a soft smile. "You know?"

"I heard your manager talking about it the other day. I thought you postponed it till spring next year-or that's what I heard."

"I've got some other plans for next year."

"Okay. Well, that's awesome news," I said, smiling warmly. Art was her fashion. And she was so in her element when she painted. "I'm sure it's gonna make headlines this year too."

"Thanks," I she signed before adding, "But I have a favor to ask from you."

Her brow furrowed in curiosity. "Me?"

"I want you to come to the exhibition. Just this once. Can you?" Her eyes flickered to mine, and for a brief moment, I saw the vulnerability there-something raw, something exposed.

"Uh-I-"

"I know you're busy. But only this once, Ahen," she signed again, more urgently now. "I've never asked you to show up as my partner before. But this once, I really need you to be there-can you?"

I sighed deeply, rubbing the back of my neck. It wasn't that I didn't want to. I just didn't know how to be that person for her-how to be the partner she needed when I couldn't even be the man I used to be.

"Lou..." I began, the sound of her name feeling unfamiliar on my tongue.

She waited, eyes expectant, and I knew there was no way to escape it.

"I'll-I'll check with my schedule," I muttered, my voice resigned. "Just text me the date and time."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. I hadn't said no, and that sufficed her to be delighted.

I didn't know where I was going. But I really hoped I wouldn't hurt her in the end. The way i hurt you.

***

It had been two years. Two years since I had last seen you. And not a minute had gone by without me regretting this-this whole thing between us. Meeting you had been a mistake. Falling in love with you had been a mistake. And in the end, now it felt like leaving you had been a mistake too. What was I supposed to do? I was convinced I would never know.

The familiar hum of my manager's voice filled the air as he went on about my schedule. I stripped off my sweatshirt, the cool air biting at my skin, and made my way to the barre, moving through the stretches with mechanical precision. I was supposed to be here, doing this. This was what I had worked for. This was what I had become. But it didn't feel like enough anymore.

Young girls from the academy filtered in through the doorway, their voices a mix of chatter and laughter. I offered a smile to one, and the group cooed in response. I sighed, trying not to let the weight of it all sink too deep.

Boy, I had been a married man. A ring on my finger. Though, honestly, it hadn't meant much to either of us. Not really. I had finally achieved my dream. I wasn't just a dancer anymore. I was a successful one. Sold-out auditoriums. Flowers and letters flooding in. My face plastered all over the posters. They talked about how I had made it, how I had risen above after the tragedy of my stepfather's untimely death. The one that had almost gotten one of my best friends killed.

If they only knew the truth. If they could see the darkness that had shadowed everything, the side of me that I had kept buried. The side that would have had people volunteering to save me from the abyss I had fallen into.

"Renowned businessman Timothy Brandon was tragically murdered last night in what authorities are calling a targeted attack. The incident occurred outside the luxurious Hotel Excelsior Gallia, where Brandon was staying during a visit to Milan.

According to eyewitness accounts, a group of armed men ambushed Mr. Brandon and his party late in the evening. Brandon's son and his fiancée were also present during the attack and sustained injuries in the onslaught.

The fiancé is currently in critical condition and receiving treatment at Policlinico di Milano. The son is reported to have suffered minor injuries and is cooperating with local authorities.

The motive behind this brutal attack remains unclear at this time. Italian law enforcement has launched an intensive investigation, and officials are working to uncover the circumstances surrounding this horrific crime..."

I still remembered the day I broke down in my mother's lap. I had screamed at her, accused her of everything-of ruining my life, of ruining us. And she had just sat there, crying with me, her hands shaking as she apologized for all the things she had done, for all the choices she had made that led us here.

"I can't," I sobbed into her shoulder, my voice raw, breaking with every word. "If something happens to Garret, I won't survive it, Mom. I won't. Don't you understand?"

Her hands cupped my face, forcing me to look at her through a blur of tears. "That's exactly why you need to stop, Ahen. That's why you have to let him go. Because if something happens to him, it will destroy you. You'll fall apart. You think you can handle that?"

I had no answer.

And so she told me her truth.

The truth of us.

She spoke about her summer romance, how she had met my father. How Matteo Lombardy had risen to the throne, crushing him in his path. How, the moment Matteo discovered that Okhaso Lefèvre had an offspring, he would come for me, too. For us.

"It would give him more reason," she whispered.

Her voice cracked as she explained why she had left me. How she had sought shelter, running from her past to protect me, to keep me alive. "Do you think I wanted to leave you?" she asked, her eyes brimming with tears. "You were the only part of him I had left. And I came back because I love you. Because you're my son, Ahen."

I didn't believe her. Not then. Not in that moment, when the hurt was too raw, when her words felt like justifications and excuses. But maybe... deep down, I did. Because she was all I had. I had already lost you. And I couldn't lose her too.

And she was right.

We were fire and cotton-not in a romantic way, not anymore. We burned too brightly, too destructively.

The memories blurred after that. The bargain we struck. The way it all fell apart. Timothy's men came for us, and I remembered throwing myself in front of her, shielding her as gunfire ripped through the room. I didn't know where the strength came from, where the surge of adrenaline, the rage, the sheer force of will had come from as I shot them all down. Maybe it was anger. Maybe it was pain. Maybe it was self-hatred.

Whatever it was, it made me who I was today.

So I moved on.

At least, that's what I told myself. I convinced myself that leaving was the right thing to do, that I had no choice. I flew back to Ravenwood without a single call, without a single visit to your hospital bed, where machines beeped and hummed to keep you alive. I knew you were there, unconscious, barely holding on. But I stayed away.

And then I claimed what was mine.

Not what I wanted. Never what I wanted. But what I had inherited. The very thing I had hated you for, I became. I had lashed out at you for being one of them, and God, if only I had known.

Now, I stretched, ignoring the ache in my body as I moved through my routine at the studio. My manager's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Ahen, you hear me?"

I blinked, shaking my head. "What?"

"Next Friday, we have-"

"Can't," I cut him off.

"Eh?"

"I can't," I repeated, my voice firmer this time. "Friday is Lou's gallery. I need to be there."

"But, Ahen, the meeting is with-"

I turned and looked him dead in the eye, my voice dropping as I enunciated every word. "Nothing else. Comes. First. When it. Comes to. Lou."

He flinched, his mouth opening and closing as he stumbled back a step.

Maybe it was rage. The kind of rage that boiled under the surface, fed by years of having to dictate my thoughts to people because, otherwise, it seemed like they'd fall on deaf ears. Rage at the helplessness, at the silence that wasn't my choice but felt like a prison. Or maybe it was guilt. The gnawing, relentless guilt of betrayal, sharp and cold like the edge of a blade pressed against my skin.

Because I had betrayed you both.

Neither you nor Lou deserved someone like me-a blue like me. A coward with a heart too fractured to give to anyone completely, stumbling between the two of you like I didn't already know who owned my heart.

Whatever it was, I had learned to fend off those emotions and turn them into fuel. Because if this was all I had left, if this was my life now, then I'd survive it. Somehow. I'd survive for you. For the life you protected at the cost of your own.

Garrett Swan Lombardy. I was your blue...