Chapter 13: The Jealous Beast
For days, things has been smooth
After that confusing kiss, the air between them shifted—no longer sharp, no longer laced with fear. There was something fragile there now, something tender that neither of them dared to name.
Lucas changed in small, aching ways. He'd wake early to make her coffee, the scent drifting through the halls before sunrise.
But it was his eyes that undid her the most.
Sometimes she'd catch him staring, and the world would fall away. His gaze wasn't just love—it was devotion tangled with madness.
"Hello?" she answered softly.
"Vierrah?" a male voice asked on the other end, low and hesitant—but unmistakably familiar.
Her heart froze. That voice… it can't be.
"Eli?" she whispered, almost in disbelief.
Before she could say anything else, the door creaked open. Lucas stepped in, hair still damp from the shower, towel hanging loose around his neck. His gaze immediately found the phone in her trembling hand.
"Who's that?" His tone was calm—too calm.
Vierrah blinked, panic rising. "It's—uh—it's nothing. Probably a wrong—"
But Lucas was already crossing the room. Two steps. That was all it took. His hand shot out and grabbed the phone before she could stop him.
"Who the hell are you?" His voice dropped—dark, deadly.
The line went silent before the man stuttered, "I—I think this is a wrong number—"
Lucas's jaw tightened. "Don't ever call this number again."
He ended the call and stared at the screen for a moment. His chest rose and fell heavily, the muscle in his jaw twitching. Then he turned to her.
"Eli?" he repeated, voice sharp as glass.
Vierrah's stomach dropped. "Lucas, it wasn't—"
"Your ex," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Right?"
She swallowed hard, shaking her head. "He didn't mean to call me. It was an accident. I swear—"
Lucas laughed under his breath—dark and bitter. "An accident? You expect me to believe that?"
He hurled the phone against the wall. It shattered, fragments scattering across the floor. Vierrah flinched at the sound.
"Lucas, stop! Please—you're scaring me."
He turned to her, his expression wild. "Good. Maybe you should be scared. Because the thought of another man saying your name makes me want to burn the world down."
Tears stung her eyes. "I told you it was nothing! Why can't you trust me?"
"Because you still remember him," he snapped. His voice cracked on the last word. "You still remember his voice."
He stepped back, breathing ragged, his hands gripping his hair like he was holding himself together by force. "Damn it, Vierrah… I can't—"
And then he left.
Just like that.
No more shouting. No explanation. Just the sound of the door slamming behind him, leaving her in silence broken only by her heartbeat.
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The next three days crawled like years.
The mansion felt emptier than ever—cold marble floors, quiet hallways, untouched food. Lucas's absence haunted every corner.
Vierrah tried to distract herself, but her mind wouldn't rest. Where did he go? What if he did something terrible?
Each night she waited by the window, watching the gates, hoping his car would appear. But only the wind answered her.
On the fourth night, a storm came. Rain slammed against the glass, thunder rumbling in the distance. Vierrah sat curled on the couch, hugging a blanket to her chest, eyes swollen from crying.
She almost didn't hear it—the faint sound of the main door unlocking.
Her breath caught.
Lucas stepped inside. His clothes were drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes hollow but alive.
"Lucas…" she whispered, standing slowly.
He didn't speak. For a moment, he just looked at her—like he wasn't sure she was real. Then he exhaled shakily and ran a hand over his face.
"I scared you again, didn't I?" His voice was hoarse, tired.
She shook her head too quickly. "No, you just—"
"You're lying," he said softly.
When he walked closer, she noticed the exhaustion etched into his features—the stubble on his jaw, the dark circles under his eyes.
"I saw him," he confessed quietly. "Your ex."
Vierrah's blood ran cold. "Lucas—what did you—"
"I didn't hurt him." His tone was hollow. "I wanted to. God knows I wanted to. But I didn't."
Her eyes widened. "You… saw him?"
He nodded slowly. "He was at some café. I waited outside. I watched him for hours. I wanted to kill him every second he breathed. But I couldn't do it." His voice cracked. "Because if I did… you'd never forgive me."
Something in his tone—raw, broken—made her chest ache.
"Lucas…"
He took a step forward, eyes glassy. "I'm sorry. For the things I said. For the way I lose control." His hand trembled as it touched her cheek. "I hate myself when I see fear in your eyes. But when I think of another man touching you, looking at you—" He let out a shaky breath. "It drives me insane."
Tears rolled down her face, mingling with the rain still dripping from his hair. "You don't have to keep hurting yourself like this just to keep me."
His hand slipped to her waist, grip tightening slightly. "But you are the only thing keeping me alive, Vierrah. If I lose you… I lose myself."
Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. "Lucas…"
He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as if her presence alone was saving him. "Please. Don't ever leave me."
"I'm not leaving," she whispered, though her voice trembled.
Then his lips crashed into hers.
It wasn't gentle. It was desperation—an apology, a confession, a punishment all at once. His kiss burned like he was trying to erase the distance between them.
Her hands pressed against his chest, not to push him away—but to steady herself against the storm inside him. She felt his heart hammering beneath her palms, raw and real and aching.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested on her shoulder. His voice broke in the quiet. "You're the only thing that makes me feel human."
She swallowed hard, trying to breathe through the heaviness in her chest. "Lucas… this isn't love if it keeps hurting us."
He shook his head weakly. "Then let me hurt, as long as I still have you."
The words cut through her like glass.
He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to it—gentle, reverent, trembling. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, his body shaking against hers as though he was terrified she'd vanish if he let go.
Minutes passed—just the sound of rain, thunder, and two broken souls clinging to each other like lifelines.
When Lucas finally fell asleep beside her, his arm heavy around her waist, Vierrah stared at the ceiling through the dark. His warmth was there, his heartbeat steady, but her mind was miles away.
She brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and whispered so quietly it was almost lost in the storm, "You're not the only one who's lost, Lucas."
Because even as fear wrapped around her heart, she couldn't deny the dangerous truth—
That the beast haunting her wasn't just Lucas's jealousy.
It was the part of her that kept forgiving it.
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