Hate, Love, and Forbidden Affair

Episode 5

Rhysand’s POV

"I cannot keep living in the past Rhys, and what happened in the past has happened already, I cannot do anything to it, but I cannot also continue like this," he said, shifting his chair closer.

"And what about me? What happens to me?" I asked, my voice breaking

"What'd you mean by what happens to you? Nothing happens Rhys, I didn't think you should react like this to this information?" He said, moving closer.

"Did you suppose that I'd act indifferent to the news of you getting married after everything that had happened?" I retorted, feeling my veins pop.

"Not indifferent, but at the least, you shouldn't react as though I'm dying," he said, rubbing his temple.

"That would have been preferred news," I said before the realization of my words struck me.

I—I didn't mean to say that, that wasn't what I intended to say," I said, trying to correct my words.

The weight of my words hit me like a freight train as the crack in his voice hung in the air. I clenched my fists on the table, my jaw tightening as guilt clawed its way through my chest.

"I didn't mean it like that," I said again, my voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as though trying to push away the sting of my words. For a moment, I saw the man behind the businessman—the one who rarely let his emotions surface, the one who kept everything together even when it wasn’t easy.

"Do you know how hard it’s been for me to watch you live with so much anger?" he said, his voice softer now but no less firm. "I’ve carried enough of my own, Rhys. I didn’t come here to fight with you. I came here to tell you that I’ve found something that makes me happy."

"And what about my happiness? Does that not matter?" I snapped, though my voice cracked at the end.

"It does, Rhys. It always has. But you’ve built your life, your empire, your rules. I’m not asking for permission to live mine."

I let out a humorless laugh, leaning back in my chair and running a hand through my hair. "You make it sound so simple."

"Because it is," he said, leaning forward now, his tone steady and resolute. "The past can’t change. We can only decide how we move forward. I’m choosing to move forward, Rhys. And I hope you’ll find a way to do the same."

I looked away, my eyes settling on the city skyline outside the window. The weight of his words pressed down on me, mingling with the guilt that still churned in my stomach. He was right—I knew he was right. But that didn’t make it easier to accept.

"You don’t understand," I said finally, my voice low. "It’s not just about you. It’s about what this means for us—for everything we’ve been through."

He sighed, and for a moment, he looked… tired, older...vulnerable.

"I know what we’ve been through," he said quietly. "And I’ll carry that with me for the rest of my life. But Rhys, holding onto it won’t change anything. It’ll only keep you trapped in the past."

The words hit harder than I expected. He wasn’t wrong, but letting go felt impossible.

"I need time," I said, my voice barely audible.

He nodded, standing up and straightening his jacket. "Take all the time you need. But don’t let it consume you, Rhys. Life’s too short for that."

As he walked toward the door, I called out to him. "Who is she?"

He paused his hand on the doorknob. "Evelyn," he said. "And she makes me happy."

With that, he left, leaving me alone in the room with nothing but my thoughts and the echo of his words.

I sat back in the chair, staring at the food I knew I wasn't going to take any of.

"Mr. Rhysand," My driver called, peeking his head through the open door.

"Do you still have something else to do?" He asked as cautiously as he could.

"Why?" I retorted, clicking my tongue angrily before standing.

"It—I just thought that..."

"That's enough, I've nothing else to do here, let's leave," I said and he nodded with a bow, regressing to walk behind me.

"You don't have to walk behind me, you know that," I said but he simply nodded and opened the car door Instead, getting in after me.

As the car glided through the dimly lit streets, I stared out the window, watching the city blur into streaks of light. Happy kids, and happy parents, hand in hand. Mine was the same until...

I didn’t realize we’d reached my house until the car slowed to a stop. My driver stepped out to open the door, but I waved him off, pushing it open myself. The cold night air hit me like a slap, but I welcomed it. Anything was better than the suffocating heaviness in my chest.

The house was silent as usual when I stepped inside, the faint scent of cedarwood and leather greeting me like an old trauma, I hated coming here, being alone...

I shrugged off my coat and draped it over the nearest chair, not bothering to head upstairs. My feet carried me to the living room, where the fireplace sat unlit, the empty grate mocking me. I sank onto the couch, my head falling into my hands.

The emptiness of the house seeped into my skin, coiling around my ribs like a vice. It wasn’t just the silence—it was the absence of warmth, of life. It was a house, not a home, and for the first time in years, I felt the weight of that distinction.

I leaned back, my eyes drifting to the ceiling. His words echoed in my mind: "Take all the time you need. But don’t let it consume you, Rhys. Life’s too short for that."

Life’s too short.

The clock on the wall ticked, each second stretching longer than the last. I thought about him—about Margrette, About the happiness he claimed to have found. I should have felt anger, jealousy, or even betrayal. But all I felt was… tired.

I pushed myself off the couch, pacing the length of the room as if movement would drown out the thoughts threatening to swallow me whole. But no matter where I turned, the emptiness followed.

Finally, I stopped in front of the glass doors leading to the balcony. I slid them open and stepped outside, the cool night air biting at my skin. The city stretched out below me, alive with light and movement—a stark contrast to the stillness inside me.

I rested my hands on the railing, staring out at the skyline. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would feel like to let go—to stop clinging to the past, to stop letting it define me.

But the thought was fleeting. Letting go wasn’t something I knew how to do.

Not yet.