Chapter 78: he noticed

As Lucian watched Rose, her face still streaked with the remnants of her tears, he sighed and looked down, gathering his emotions. "Alright, Rose," he said gently, trying to soften his words. "Please… just wipe your face, okay? I'm running late, and I really need to get to college." He tried to add a bit of firmness to his tone, but it came out more like a plea. He couldn't deny the slight tug at his heart, seeing his sister like this, but he wasn't ready to let it show.Rose nodded, her cheeks flushed from both the embarrassment of crying and the shame of breaking down in front of Lucian. She managed a small, shaky laugh. "I'm fine," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur as she tried to steady her emotions. But as she looked at Lucian, she could see a guarded look in his eyes a look that had once been open and trusting.

"And… please," Lucian added with a sigh, "wipe those tears before Mother sees you. She'll think I… I did something to make you cry." His words came out lightly, almost teasing, but there was an edge to them, a shadow that betrayed a deeper pain. S~eaʀᴄh the novёlF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Rose felt her lips twitch upward in a faint smile as she dabbed her eyes, a mixture of relief and sadness in her gaze. "Oh?" she replied, raising an eyebrow and trying to return some levity. "And what exactly would she think you did to make me cry?"

Lucian gave a slight grin, glancing away as he spoke. "umm mm i..i I don't know." He stumbled, trying to downplay his own feelings, but the humor couldn't mask his distance. "Just… wash your face before you go downstairs, alright?" His voice softened, and he turned away quickly, as if afraid to let his own emotions spill over.

Rose's heart felt warmer hearing him, even if his tone was distant. She couldn't help but want to push just a little, to tease out a bit more warmth from him. "Are you serious? Lucian, what would she really think?"

"Enough, Rose," he replied trying to act indeferrnt , clearly wanting to end the conversation as he walked toward the door. "I need to get ready for college. I'm already behind."

Rose only nodded, sitting quietly as she watched him move to leave. She hadn't moved from her seat, her fingers wrapped around the cooling coffee cup in her lap. Her smile faded to something softer, more reflective, as she kept her gaze on him, wondering if he would ever see her sincerity.

Lucian stopped at the doorway, pausing for just a moment. "Oh… and, Rose?" he said, without looking back. "Just… if you ever want to come to my room again, could you knock first next time?" His voice was steady but held a strange vulnerability, a quiet request that felt almost too personal for him to voice.

Rose looked down, her gaze falling to the cup in her hands as she bit her lip, feeling a sense of quiet happiness and relief despite his guarded tone. Her fingers traced the edge of her cup absently, unable to look up.

"And…" Lucian hesitated, then spoke almost in a whisper, "put something on your lips. They look… bitten." He closed the door softly behind him, not waiting for her response.

Rose's fingers drifted to her lips, her eyes widening as his words sank in. She touched her mouth gently, remembering how she had bitten her lips raw just days ago, unable to contain her guilt and anger at herself when she first regained those memories of him. For a moment, her mind raced with the realization: he had noticed. He had seen, even with her efforts to conceal her distress, even as she hid her pain behind the coldness she'd always shown him.

"He noticed," she whispered to herself, a soft sob breaking through as she spoke. It felt like a crack in the armor she had worn for so long, like she could finally see through the years of anger and pain she had caused. A teardrop fell, unnoticed, into her coffee, rippling across the surface as if marking the silent chaos in her heart.

She let herself sob softly, hugging herself in the quiet of the room. Her body shook with grief, but her face held a gentle smile, the kind of bittersweet expression that lingered after a long, exhausting sorrow. For the first time in years, she felt a warmth she couldn't name a small flame that somehow survived despite all she had done to extinguish it.

Somewhere in the stillness, she found herself thinking, Lucian still cares about me. After everything… he still notices.

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Meanwhile, Lucian walked into the bathroom, closing the door and leaning against it, trying to process what had just happened. He rubbed his temples, his thoughts swirling with a mix of confusion and frustration. He couldn't ignore the turmoil that had been brewing within him since Rose's unexpected arrival, the emotions he'd tried so hard to bury rising to the surface once more.

Why is she here? he thought, running a hand through his hair. Is this some kind of plan? Did Mother put her up to this? Or does she actually think she can just… walk back in like nothing ever happened?

He shook his head, shutting his eyes tightly. Memories from his past life crept in the countless times he had reached out to Rose, only to be met with a cold, indifferent stare, her constant suspicion of his motives, her relentless attempts to keep him at arm's length. He had learned, painfully, that her trust was something he could never truly earn.

But those tears, he thought, his mind flashing back to her broken expression. He felt a pang of sadness, a twinge of something he couldn't easily ignore. It stirred something deep within him, a gentle ache that he had spent lifetimes trying to suppress.

But I can't… I can't let myself believe it, he reminded himself, gripping the sink's edge and forcing himself to look in the mirror. Not after everything that's happened. Not after I wasted so many years trying to make her see me, only to be cast aside again and again.

A bitter smile crossed his face as he stared at his own reflection, his eyes tired and weighed down with the burden of memories he wished he could forget. Trust doesn't come easily when it's been shattered time and time again. And after all these years, even if I wanted to trust her, I just… can't.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. He stiffened, not expecting anyone, and opened it to find himself face-to-face with his own conflicted reflection in the mirror. For a moment, he felt as if he were looking at a stranger, someone who had been both hurt and healed too many times to recognize himself.

No, I can't trust her, he decided, steeling himself against the uncertainty that had been eating away at him. I've learned that trusting tears and empty apologies is a fool's game. I can't let myself fall into that trap again.

But even as he resolved to protect himself, a quiet voice echoed in his mind, whispering the words he had always longed to hear from her. She still cares… she still notices.

A part of him wished he could believe it, wished that her tears were a genuine sign of regret, that her presence today was more than just a fleeting moment. But he knew better than to let himself hope.

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