Chapter 11: The Storm Within
The days that followed felt like walking through glass—sharp, fragile, ready to shatter at any moment.
Ever since Vierrah found the journal, Lucas had changed. Not outwardly—he still smiled, still kissed her hand before breakfast, still called her my love in that smooth, low voice—but there was something in his eyes now. A wildness that hadn't been there before.
It was as if he knew she saw the monster behind the mask.
And instead of hiding it, he let it breathe.
---
She sat quietly in the library one afternoon, pretending to read. She could feel his presence even before he entered. The scent of his cologne, the faint sound of his shoes against the floor—it was all too familiar now.
He came up behind her, his hands settling gently on her shoulders. "You're quiet today," he murmured.
"I just wanted some time alone," she said softly.
"Alone?" His voice tightened slightly. "Why would you want that?"
Vierrah's hands froze on the pages of her book. "Because I need space, Lucas."
He knelt beside her, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Space from me?"
Her breath hitched. He wasn't angry, but his tone carried something worse—fear. A desperate kind of fear that clung to her like smoke.
She nodded faintly. "You're smothering me."
His expression fell, and for a long moment he didn't speak. Then he whispered, "I don't mean to."
He stood abruptly, pacing across the room. "I just—when I'm not near you, I can't think straight. I keep imagining you leaving, or someone taking you away, or—"
He stopped, pressing a hand against his chest as if trying to steady his own heartbeat.
"Lucas…" Vierrah stood carefully, watching him. "You need to calm down."
He laughed bitterly. "Calm down? I've tried that for years. You don't know what it's like inside my head."
Something in his voice cracked—the polished, confident man stripped away, leaving behind someone raw. Someone human.
Vierrah hesitated, then took a step closer. "Then tell me."
He looked at her, surprised. For the first time, she wasn't crying or fighting back. She was asking.
Lucas ran a trembling hand through his hair. "You really want to know?"
"Yes."
He turned away, his shoulders tense. "I grew up with nothing," he began quietly. "My father was a drunk. My mother… she used to say love was weakness. That people only hurt you when you care too much."
Vierrah's chest tightened.
"I used to think she was right," he continued. "Until I saw you. You were so bright, so… alive. And I thought, maybe if I could have that—if I could have you—I'd finally stop feeling empty."
He turned toward her, his eyes glassy. "But the closer I got, the worse it became. I couldn't sleep unless I knew where you were. I couldn't breathe when you were too far. I tried to stay away, but I kept coming back."
His voice broke. "You don't know what it's like, Vierrah. To want someone so much it makes you sick."
Vierrah felt something inside her shift.
For months, she had only seen the monster—the manipulative billionaire who trapped her, who built walls around her life.
But now, for the first time, she saw the boy beneath the cruelty.
A boy who was never loved properly, who turned his longing into control because that was the only way he knew how to keep someone.
It didn't excuse what he'd done.
But it made her heart ache anyway.
She stepped forward carefully, placing a hand on his arm. "Lucas…"
He froze, eyes wide, as if her touch burned him.
"I don't forgive you," she whispered. "But I see you."
Something flickered in his gaze—hope, disbelief, maybe both. He reached out slowly, his hand hovering near her cheek, but he stopped himself.
"I don't deserve that," he murmured. "Not from you."
She swallowed hard. "Then prove it. Let me live, Lucas. Let me breathe."
He turned away sharply, shaking his head. "I can't. Not yet."
The tension returned to the room like thunder before rain.
Vierrah lowered her hand. "Then nothing changes."
She moved to leave, but his hand shot out, gripping her wrist—not harshly, just enough to stop her. His voice trembled when he spoke.
"Please, don't walk away."
Her eyes softened despite herself. "I'm not walking away. I'm still here."
He stared at her for a long time, his breathing uneven. Then, slowly, he released her.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'll try… I'll try to be better."
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe the pain in his voice was real. But deep down, she knew that love built on obsession didn't heal easily. It only hid, waiting for the next storm.
---
That night, Lucas didn't sleep.
Vierrah could feel him beside her, restless and awake, his body tense beneath the sheets. Every time she shifted, his arm instinctively wrapped around her, as if afraid she'd disappear.
At one point, she opened her eyes and found him staring at her in the dark. His gaze was unreadable—half tender, half haunted.
"Why are you awake?" she whispered.
He smiled faintly. "Because if I close my eyes, I see you leaving again."
Her heart clenched. "Lucas…"
"I'm scared," he admitted softly. "Of losing you. Of losing myself."
For the first time, she didn't pull away. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek. "Then stop fighting what's not yours to own."
He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch like a starving man given a taste of warmth.
"I don't know how," he said.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with everything they couldn't say.
Vierrah's heart broke quietly in the dark. Because despite everything—despite the lies, the control, the fear—there was still a part of her that wanted to save him.
And that terrified her more than his obsession ever could.
---
By dawn, the rain had stopped, but inside the mansion, the storm hadn't.
Lucas lingered by the window, his reflection pale in the glass, watching her as she pretended to sleep.
His whisper barely reached the air.
"I'll be better, my love. I promise."
But the tremor in his voice betrayed the truth—
The storm wasn't fading.
It was only beginning to drown them both.
---