Chapter 111: I Think You Won.... Silas Stoneheart....
Another note slides out. His handwriting is shakier now—less certain. More fragile.
If you want a divorce... I’m ready.
Let’s divorce.
Divorce.
The word hangs in the air between us, suspended in the dim golden light of the hallway. It should feel like victory.
This is what I wanted. What I fought for.
Freedom. Escape. Release.
The chance to reclaim a life that was stolen from me.
But now, the word sits in my chest like something foreign. Like a key that no longer fits the lock it was made for.
I should feel relieved.
I should feel lighter.
Instead, I feel something strange and unfamiliar—a tightness in my chest, a slow unraveling of something I didn’t realize was holding me together.
The note slips from my fingers and lands softly on the polished floor.
He’s ready to divorce me.
But now, when I try to imagine it—when I try to picture this house without his quiet presence, without the soft shuffle of his footsteps in the morning, without the way he looks at me like I matter—everything feels wrong.
The silence that was once my sanctuary now feels like a threat. The empty spaces that used to give me peace now feel like wounds.
I don’t speak. I just stay still, staring at the wall in front of me. My head falls back against the cool wood of the door.
"Are you really ready to divorce me?"
My voice is quiet. Almost lost in the space between us.
A faint hiccup comes from the other side. Then the soft shuffle of paper against wood. Another note slides out.
I glance at it, hesitate for a moment, then pick it up.
For your happiness, I can do anything. If you’re happy in this...
I give up on you.
The words settle heavily in my chest. I read them again. Slower this time.
"Who told you I’m happy?"
Another note. Slower to appear this time, as if the words themselves are heavy with reluctance.
I know I’m just a burden to you. An embarrassment. A Beta who can’t even speak.
I know I’m not good enough to be with you. But...
I just wanted to be loved by you.
Something cracks open in my chest. Not loudly—not dramatically—but quietly, like the first hairline fracture in ice before it gives way completely.
"Who told you that you’re an embarrassment?" My voice is quiet but firm. "You’re not."
I tighten my grip on the note. "And you don’t get to decide things like that without asking me first."
Silence. Then another note, trembling at the edges.
What do you mean... asking?
"You didn’t ask me yet. What I feel about you."
Another note slides out. This one takes longer to come, as if he’s gathering the courage to write it.
What do you feel?
I let the question settle between us, let it breathe. Then I speak.
"If you want to know—open the door. And hear the answer. Face to face."
No movement. No note. Just silence.
I wait.
The seconds stretch into something thicker. I can hear my own breathing. His breathing on the other side.
Then—
The door handle twists. A soft click, nearly swallowed by the silence. The door opens.
I look up.
Silas stands there.
His eyes are red—swollen from crying, the skin around them raw and tender. His face is wet with tears, fresh ones still slipping down his cheeks. His lips are parted slightly, as if he’s forgotten how to breathe.
He looks down at me.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then I rise from the floor. The cold has seeped into my bones, but I barely feel it. I stand in front of him. Face to face.
His body trembles. His fists clench at his sides, twisting the fabric of his trousers. Nervous. Hesitant. Waiting.
I step forward, close enough to see each tear as it falls. Close enough to feel the tremor running through his body.
He steps back.
"Do you want to hear what I feel about you?"
His eyes lock with mine. They’re a mess of brown and gold, glistening, fragile, like the last leaves before winter takes them.
I step forward again.
He steps back again. Without turning away. Without looking away. I close the door behind me. The soft click echoes through the room.
For a moment, it feels like the rest of the world disappears.
"It’s true. I didn’t want this marriage. I wanted a divorce. I wanted to get rid of you as soon as possible."
Another step forward.
Another step back from him.
"But now..." I pause, searching for the words, letting them find me instead of forcing them.
"I don’t want to be apart from you."
The confession hangs between us. Quiet. Honest. Terrifying.
"I don’t even want to think about it."
Another step.
His knees hit the edge of the bed behind him. He stumbles, loses his balance, and falls backward onto the mattress. The sheets shift beneath him.
My eyes never leave his.
I follow.
I lean over him, hovering above his body, my hands braced on either side of his shoulders. The distance between us is small—small enough to feel the warmth of his skin, the uneven rise and fall of his chest.
My hand lifts. Slowly, deliberately, I reach for his face. My thumb brushes the corner of his eye, catching a tear before it can fall.
"It’s the first time in my life I’ve lost to someone."
His breath catches. His lips part, but no sound comes out.
"Do you remember our deal?"
I trace away another tear, following the curve of his cheek. "If you managed to pursue me for two months, I’d accept you as my real partner."
I pause. The words settle between us. Heavy. Unavoidable.
"I think you won, Silas Stoneheart."
His face shifts—shock, disbelief, something fragile and beautiful blooming behind his eyes.
He blinks slowly.
His lips part slightly, as if he wants to ask whether it’s real. Whether he heard me correctly. But no sound comes out. His lips close again.
A fresh tear slips free. I catch it with my thumb. "Did you get your answer?" I hold his gaze. "Your clarity?"
He swallows. His throat moves beneath the pale skin of his neck.
Slowly, barely, he nods.
"Then stop crying."
A shaky breath leaves him. He tries to compose himself, tries to hold everything together, but his body still trembles beneath me.
Before he can do anything else, I lean down and press my lips to his.
His eyes widen for a moment. Then they slowly flutter closed.
His lips are warm beneath mine, faintly salted by tears. The kiss is gentle at first—hesitant, almost disbelieving. As if neither of us is quite certain this is real.
Then, little by little, the tension leaves him. I feel it in the way his shoulders loosen. In the way his trembling eases. In the way he finally kisses me back.
When I pull away, it’s only far enough to look at him. His eyes open slowly.
And meet mine.
Without a word, I lean down again.
This time, I simply hold him.
My arms wrap around him, pulling him close. My face buries itself in the curve of his neck, breathing in the familiar warmth of him. Beneath me, his heart races wildly against his ribs—fast and unsteady, as if it still can’t believe any of this is real.
I close my eyes.
"From now on, don’t ever think about leaving." My voice comes out quieter than I intend. "You came into my life—whether I wanted it or not."
A breath.
"And now you can’t leave without my permission."
His hands rise slowly. Hesitantly. As though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he moves too quickly.
For a moment, they hover in the air. Then they settle against my back. Warm. Careful. Real.
He hugs me back.
His fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, and a moment later I feel it—the gentle rhythm of his hand against my back.
Slow. Patient. Comforting.
The same way he’s always been.
I let myself sink into it. Into the warmth. Into the quiet. Into him. For the first time in my life, losing doesn’t feel so bad.
I tighten my hold around him and close my eyes.
I’ve opened my heart to you, Silas Stoneheart.
So don’t let go of it.
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