Chapter Four: The Uninvited Ghost
711 Words
Livia Sinclair was back.
And everyone felt it.
The hospital waiting room had been wrapped in suffocating silence before she arrived. A silence of hopelessness. A silence that settled into everyone’s bones as the reality of Luna’s condition pressed down on them.
But now, the air crackled. With shock. With tension. With something far more dangerous—something that made Roman's pulse hammer against his ribs.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
Except Darcy knew better.
“I knew you’d come, Liv.”
Roman turned, watching his brother stride forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat.
And then—he hugged her.
A real hug.
Not stiff. Not formal. Not the kind you give someone who has been a ghost in your life for years. But the kind that said you were never really gone, were you?
Roman clenched his jaw. A dark, ugly thing coiled in his chest. Because of course Darcy and Livia were still close. Of course she had never cut him out the way she had cut him out.
She let Darcy hold her.
She didn’t return the embrace fully, but Roman saw the shift in her posture—the slightest lean, the way her lashes dipped for a second too long. That was all Darcy needed.
Roman had forgotten what softness looked like on her.
For years, he told himself she had probably grown colder, harder—just like he had. But now she was standing right in front of him, and Livia Sinclair had never been ice.
She had always been fire.
And now, Roman was close enough to burn.
Darcy pulled back first, his hands still lingering on her arms. “I tried to get in touch with you earlier,” he murmured, low enough that it wasn’t meant for anyone else. “But I knew you'd come.”
Livia gave him the faintest smile. It was small, barely there, but devastating.
“Of course I came. It’s Luna.”
Roman didn’t miss the subtle emphasis in her voice.
It wasn’t I came because of you.
It wasn’t I came because we’re family.
It was I came for Luna.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
She hadn’t changed at all.
His father cleared his throat, stepping forward. “I appreciate the gesture, Livia. You’ll be rewarded for showing up.”
Roman flinched. Darcy stiffened.
But Livia?
She laughed.
Not loud. Not mocking. Just a quiet, disbelieving chuckle, like she couldn’t believe he had the audacity to say it out loud.
Roman watched as she tilted her head slightly, that sharp intelligence in her gaze cutting through his father like a blade.
“Rewarded?” she echoed, voice smooth as silk. “That’s generous of you.”
Alden’s jaw clenched.
Darcy stepped in. “Father, I’m afraid you should know your manners.”
It was the only time in Roman’s life that he had ever seen his father actually look like he was about to shut up.
But Roman wasn’t paying attention to any of them anymore.
Because Livia walked past them all.
Right past him.
She didn’t look at him.
Didn’t spare him even the slightest glance.
Like he wasn’t worth the breath it would take to acknowledge him.
It was a clean, effortless cut. And Roman felt the sharpness of it slice through his pride, his composure—his everything.
His fingers curled into fists.
His pulse roared.
But she was already at Luna’s bedside.
She exhaled softly, brushing a strand of hair from the little girl’s forehead. Then she leaned down and whispered, “I’ll save you, okay?”
Roman barely heard the words.
Because all he could think about—all he could feel—was her.
Her presence. Her scent. The way the soft glow of the hospital lights caught the curve of her jaw, the slope of her bare throat beneath the open trench coat.
He had kissed that throat once. Had tasted her skin, had memorized the way her breath had hitched—
Roman’s gut twisted.
He hated this.
Hated that she could still make him feel this way after all these years.
But most of all?
He hated that she had never looked back.
Because to be haunted by someone…
You had to matter to them first.
- Writer
