Chapter Eight: Bound by Fire
707 Words
Livia never believed in second chances.
People didn’t just change. They pretended, they performed, they spoke in carefully crafted words, but in the end, they always reverted back to who they really were.
And yet, as she sat beside Luna’s bed, exhaustion pulling at her bones, she couldn’t ignore the way Roman had looked at her.
Like he felt something.
Like he ached for something.
The thought alone made her furious.
Because Roman Aldridge didn’t get to ache. He didn’t get to feel. Not after the years of silence. Not after the years she had spent clawing her way out of the abyss he had left her in.
But that look in his eyes—it wasn’t arrogance. It wasn’t amusement or condescension. It was something else. Something raw.
Something dangerous.
Livia exhaled, brushing her fingers through Luna’s curls, focusing on the steady rise and fall of her sister’s breath.
“I’ll save you,” she whispered.
Because despite everything—despite the unbearable weight of resentment, of loneliness, of betrayal—Luna was hers.
Her sister.
And she would never, ever fail her.
The door creaked open.
Livia didn’t bother looking up. “I thought you were done with the whole dramatic staring thing.”
She expected silence. A retreat. Maybe even a smirk.
Instead, Roman’s voice came, low and rough. “I thought so too.”
That made her turn.
And instantly, she hated herself for it.
Because the moment their eyes met, her stomach twisted.
Roman stood there, just inside the room, his shoulders tense, his hands in his pockets like he was fighting the urge to reach for something—for her. His suit jacket was slightly rumpled, his jaw shadowed with the beginnings of stubble.
He looked... wrecked.
She clenched her jaw. Good.
“Did you sleep at all?” he asked.
She snorted, turning back to Luna. “Don’t pretend to care now, Roman.”
“I’m not pretending.”
His voice was softer this time, but she refused to let it touch her.
She stood, arms crossing as she faced him fully. “You don’t get to walk in here and suddenly care.” Her voice was sharp, each word a blade meant to slice through whatever illusion he was trying to build. “You don’t get to wake up one morning and decide that maybe you should have given a damn. That’s not how this works.”
“I know.”
There was no hesitation. No defense.
Just acceptance.
And that made her blood boil.
She took a step closer, the air between them charged, dangerous. “Then what the hell do you want?”
Roman’s gaze dropped to her lips for just a second—just long enough for her to catch it. Long enough to make her breath hitch.
She hated him for that, too.
He exhaled, shaking his head. “I just—I see you now.”
She stilled.
Her pulse hammered.
Those words were a curse, a whispered sin, a noose tightening around her throat.
Because she wanted to believe him.
She wanted to take those words and hold them close, let them settle into the cracks she had spent years trying to seal.
But she wouldn’t.
Couldn’t.
She forced herself to scoff. “Congratulations.”
Roman’s jaw tightened, but before he could speak, the door opened again.
Darcy.
His sharp blue eyes flickered between them, immediately locking onto her like he could feel the storm in her chest.
“You okay?” His voice was steady. Unwavering. Safe.
Livia let out a slow breath. “Yeah.”
But Darcy didn’t move. His gaze shifted to Roman, his body language coiled, on edge. “Did you need something?”
Roman’s fingers curled into fists at his sides.
He glanced at Livia once more, something unreadable in his expression. Then he shook his head. “No.”
Darcy didn’t speak, didn’t move.
But the tension between them crackled.
Finally, he simply said, “Good.”
Roman let out a slow breath, then turned and walked out.
And Livia—
She should have felt victorious.
But all she felt was tired.
And maybe, just maybe, something else entirely.
Something she refused to name.
Something that burned.
- Writer
