Chapter 222: The Wrong Feelings

Words : 1150 Updated : Sep 29th, 2025

Evaline: "What’s going on?" I asked, watching as the final few cartons were brought inside. He walked up to me. His expression was innocent but eyes were glinting with amusement. "Since you failed to complete the simplest task of picking a Christmas tree to decorate your room, I took the liberty to do it for you." I blinked. "You... what?" "All of those-" he gestured grandly to the now box-filled space behind me, "-are for your room’s Christmas makeover." I turned my head slowly toward the mountain of boxes now occupying the corner of my bedroom. "All of those?" "There’s no rule about decorating small, Eva. You should have known better." He grinned. My jaw dropped slightly. "Oscar said you went out for something important-" "And this is important," he interrupted, walking into the room. "Besides, Oscar would have done it if he wasn’t busy with pack business." I followed him in, still processing the sheer number of boxes. The servants exited one by one, leaving the door open behind them until the last one shut it gently. "I thought we could call the others and make a thing out of it. You know, decorating together like a family-" Draven paused, shooting me a sideways glance. "Except River, of course. Let’s not even pretend he would lift a finger for tinsel. The only thing he contributes to the main tree every year is judging the symmetry." I laughed despite myself. "What about Professor Kieran?" He shrugged. "I was going to call him, but if you want to invite him personally-" "I do," I cut in a little too quickly. He looked at me, curiosity flickering in his dark eyes just for second, but he didn’t pry. "Alright then. The tree will be standing tall by the time you return." "Thanks," I whispered and left. Climbing the stairs to the Master Floor felt heavier than usual. My mind was still a whirl of regret over how I treated Kieran earlier in the dining hall. He didn’t deserve that. And even if I blamed pregnancy hormones or my own frazzled nerves, it wasn’t an excuse. I paused outside his door, gathering my thoughts. The hallway was quiet, and the air felt heavier up here. I hesitated for a moment, then raised my hand and knocked softly. To my surprise, the door creaked open with the lightest push. I stepped in, blinking at the dim light spilling from a side lamp. The room was massive - though not as large as mine, it carried the same air of authority and quiet opulence. Everything was clean, minimal, but carefully placed. Kieran’s usual personality was reflecting clearly in the space. "Professor?" I called out, softly closing the door behind me. I didn’t expect a reply. Not immediately. I almost thought he wasn’t here, but then my gaze fell to the figure on the floor. His back was leaned against the side of the bed and the pale light was carving soft shadows on his face, making his features appear more tired, more human, more vulnerable. His head was bent low, fingers loosely holding a cigarette that had almost burned down to the filter. He wasn’t moving. He was just... sitting. Still. Quiet. And my heart clenched at the sight. "Kieran?" I called again, this time more softly and using his name for some twisted reason even I didn’t know. And this time, he looked up slowly, as though waking from a dream. His eyes widened slightly when they met mine, a flash of emotion I couldn’t place dancing behind them before vanishing. He blinked once and the expression was gone. "Evaline." His voice was hoarse. "Didn’t expect you." "I didn’t expect to find you like this either," I said truthfully. He looked away, taking a breath and stubbing the cigarette out on a nearby tray. "Is there something you need?" "No," I said quietly, stepping closer. "I mean, yes. I came to talk to you. To apologize." That got his attention. He looked up again, brow furrowed. "I shouldn’t have reacted like that earlier," I said. "You were only trying to be kind... and I just-" I exhaled, feeling the guilt burn in my throat. "I was a mess. And I took it out on you. I’m sorry." Silence stretched between us. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he slowly got to his feet, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants, still not meeting my eyes. "I shouldn’t have touched you without asking," he finally said. "I startled you." "That’s not-" I paused. "That’s not why I pulled away." His jaw tensed slightly, but he didn’t speak. "I don’t know what’s happening to me," I admitted, stepping closer. "I feel things more deeply now. Anger, panic, confusion. Sometimes I cry for no reason. Sometimes I want to scream. And sometimes-" I stopped myself. He finally looked at me. "Sometimes?" "Sometimes I just want someone to hold me and not ask why I’m feeling the way I’m feeling," I whispered. "And maybe I was afraid you would see how messed up I really am." "You are not messed up," he said immediately, with more force than I expected. I looked up at his face and our eyes locked. And for a moment, it felt like the world stopped. I didn’t know if it was the dim lighting or the aching silence between us, but something about this moment felt different. Heavy. Charged. He stepped closer, slowly, as if afraid any sudden movement would send me running again. "You are allowed to feel overwhelmed. You are allowed to have moments where you don’t know what you want," he said, his voice low. "But don’t shut people out. Don’t shut me out." His words were like a balm. A painful one. Because I didn’t know how to stop. "I’m scared," I whispered. He reached out... slowly, hesitantly... but stopped just inches from my cheek. "You don’t have to be," he said. "Not with me." And then his hand landed softly on my cheek. His touch was warm, grounding, like a gentle tether in a storm I couldn’t name. We stood there in silence, eyes searching, breaths shallow, caught in that undefined space we always seemed to linger in. Neither of us mentioned the strange way our skin seemed to hum when it touched. Neither of us acknowledged how drawn we felt toward each other, like invisible threads were pulling us together despite everything. Finally, he stepped back. "You came to invite me to something, didn’t you?" he asked, his voice softer now. I nodded. "Draven brought home enough decorations to fill a warehouse. We are decorating my room’s tree. I thought... maybe you would like to help?" Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement. Fondness. Maybe even relief. "I’ll be down in five," he said. I smiled. And this time, when I turned to leave, my steps felt lighter.

Chapter 222: The Wrong Feelings

Comments (0)