ABSOLUTE INSANITY: A forbidden bond

Chapter 277: Peace evaporated

Chapter 277

KATYA POV

My chest tightened, the air suddenly harder to draw in. I stared at him, my mind racing even as my body stayed painfully still.

"I—" I started, then stopped.

I didn’t have an answer ready. Not one that fit neatly into words. Not one that wouldn’t unravel something I’d spent months carefully holding together.

"What?" I asked faintly.

"You," he clarified, stopping as well, facing me fully now. "You left. Back then. No explanation. No warning."

My throat tightened. I folded my arms loosely, more for something to do with my hands than for warmth. "Michael, that was a long time ago."

"I know," he said immediately. "I’m not saying it wasn’t. But it didn’t stop mattering."

I let out a small breath. "It mattered enough for you to bring it up now?" I tried to keep my tone light. I failed.

His gaze didn’t waver. "It mattered enough that when I saw you again, I needed to know if I imagined it. Or if you really just disappeared."

The word hit harder than I expected.

Disappeared.

I looked away, my eyes drifting toward the driveway, the gate—anywhere but him. The night felt suddenly too open. Too exposed.

"I didn’t disappear," I said quietly. "I left."

"That’s the same thing."

"No," I snapped, sharper than I meant to. I exhaled, forcing myself to soften. "It’s not. Leaving implies choice. Disappearing implies... something else."

He watched me closely. "And you’re saying it was a choice?"

I hesitated.

Because yes—it was.

And no—it wasn’t that simple.

"I didn’t owe you an explanation," I said finally, though my voice lacked conviction.

His jaw tightened slightly. "Maybe not. But you owed honesty. At least enough not to vanish like none of it meant anything."

That stung.

I laughed under my breath, short and brittle. "You think it didn’t mean anything to me?"

"Then help me understand," he said quietly. "Because from where I was standing, one day you were there—and the next, you were gone. No call. No goodbye. Just... nothing."

I swallowed.

The memory pressed in—heavy and unwelcome. The fear. The pressure. The things I hadn’t known how to explain back then, let alone survive.

"I didn’t leave because of you," I said slowly. "If that’s what you think."

"Then why?" His voice was lower now. Not demanding. Just... real.

I shook my head. "I can’t answer that."

"Can’t," he repeated softly. "Or won’t?"

"Does it matter?"

He was quiet for a moment. The hum of the night filled the space between us—the distant chirp of insects, the soft rush of wind through the trees.

"I guess it does," he said finally. "Because I didn’t follow you, Katya. I didn’t look for you this time. I respected the silence you left me with."

I flinched slightly.

"But running into you again," he continued, "especially like this... it makes the questions louder."

I hugged myself tighter, the cold finally catching up to me—or maybe it was something else entirely.

"I didn’t expect to see you again," I admitted. "Not here. Not anywhere."

"And yet," he said softly, "here we are."

Our eyes met.

There was no accusation in his gaze. No anger. Just history—and unresolved things pressing quietly between us.

I looked away first. "I’m sorry."

His brow furrowed slightly. "There is nothing to be sorry about, Katya."

His voice was gentle, steady in a way that made my chest ache. Not dismissive. Not patronizing. Just sincere.

"I mean that," he continued, taking a small step closer but stopping well before my comfort frayed. "I don’t want apologies. I don’t want explanations you’re not ready to give."

He paused, choosing his words carefully.

"The only thing I need to know now is this—do you want me in your life or not?"

The question settled between us, heavier than anything else he’d said tonight.

"If you don’t," he added quietly, "say the word and I’ll walk away. No pressure. No hard feelings. I’ll respect your decision."

I searched his face—really looked this time.

There was no manipulation there. No expectation hidden behind charm. Just honesty. Vulnerability.

And that terrified me.

Because the truth was—I’d spent so long believing my life was something dangerous to share. Cursed. Complicated. A mess best kept contained. I told myself distance kept people safe. That leaving was kindness in disguise.

But the universe clearly hadn’t agreed.

How many times had our paths crossed now? Different cities. Different lives. Different versions of ourselves.

And yet—here he was.

Still calm. Still offering me a choice instead of a demand.

Maybe this wasn’t punishment.

Maybe it was a warning.

Or maybe—just maybe—it was a second chance I kept refusing out of fear.

I exhaled slowly, my shoulders sagging as something inside me loosened.

"I don’t know how to be normal," I admitted softly. "I don’t know how to do this without messing it up." Without someone ending up dead—but I kept that part to myself.

Michael smiled faintly. Not amused. Understanding. "Neither do I."

I hesitated one last time.

Then—

"Okay."

His brows lifted slightly. "Okay... as in get out of your life, or—"

"Stay," I said quickly. "Okay as in stay."

For a moment, he just looked at me. Then relief crossed his face so clearly it almost made me laugh.

"Yeah?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah."

He didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and pulled me into a hug—warm, solid, careful. Not possessive. Not rushed. Just grounding.

I froze for half a second, then relaxed into it, my forehead brushing his shoulder as I breathed him in.

It felt... safe. Unexpectedly so.

When we pulled apart, he smiled. "I’ll come by again. Some other time—when it’s less dramatic."

I huffed softly. "That would be nice."

"And Katya?" he added, opening his car door. "Pick my calls from now on."

"I would," I said, then grimaced. "But my phone isn’t with me. Chiara hasn’t gone to take her car yet."

He chuckled. "Figures. Alright then. I’ll see you."

"See you," I echoed.

I stood by the driveway as he drove off, lifting a hand in a small wave. I didn’t lower it until his car disappeared through the gate, the taillights fading into the night.

For a moment, everything felt quiet.

Almost peaceful.

Then the gates opened again.

I frowned, lowering my hand as headlights flooded the driveway. One car. Then another. Then a third—sleek, black, unmistakably expensive.

They glided in with practiced precision.

My heartbeat picked up. "Are we expecting someone?" I muttered.

The cars came to a stop. The middle one.

The back door opened.

And the world tilted.

A polished shoe touched the ground first. Then a familiar silhouette unfolded itself from the car—tall, composed, unmistakable.

Romeo.

I stared, my breath catching sharply in my throat.

Of all people.

Of all nights.

Romeo straightened, lifting his gaze—and our eyes met.

And just like that, whatever peace I’d found evaporated.