SEVEN MONTHS TO HATE YOU

CHAPTER 12- Seven months

The moment Lucien stepped into the grand ballroom—

the party exploded.

Screams.

Actual screams.

Girls rushed forward before security immediately stopped them.

Phones were raised.

Names were shouted.

People stood on their toes trying to get a better look.

"LUCIEN!"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

"LOOK OVER HERE!"

"Oh my God he's even hotter in person!"

The noise became deafening.

Lucien didn't smile.

Didn't wave.

Didn't acknowledge them.

His hands rested inside his pockets as he slowly descended the marble staircase.

Cold.

Untouchable.

Dangerous.

The crowd loved him even more for it.

Meanwhile, standing near one of the crystal pillars, Arielle watched everything unfold.

Her heart squeezed painfully.

Not because of the crowd.

Because of him.

Three years ago she would've been the first person wishing him happy birthday.

Three years ago she'd have been standing beside Marco, arguing over whose gift was better.

Three years ago she'd have been laughing.

Now she was just another guest.

A stranger.

Then it happened.

Lucien's eyes found hers.

Across the crowded room.

Across hundreds of guests.

Across years of hatred.

Their gazes locked.

Arielle froze.

The room seemed to disappear.

The music faded.

The crowd vanished.

For a brief moment—

it was just them.

And what she saw made her blood run cold.

Hatred.

That part she expected.

Bitterness.

That too.

But beneath all that—

Rage.

Pure rage.

A fury so deep it looked carved into his bones.

Arielle's breath caught.

The intensity of it terrified her.

She immediately looked away.

Her pulse quickening.

God.

That look.

That look wasn't normal.

It wasn't simply anger.

It looked personal.

Like he wanted her to feel every second of the pain he'd carried for three years.

Across the room, Lucien continued staring.

Watching.

Waiting.

Like a predator.

Marco noticed.

"Damn."

Elias sighed.

"He's doing it again."

Marco rubbed his face.

Neither of them approached Lucien.

Neither wanted to.

Not when he was looking at Arielle like that.

Arielle grabbed a glass of water from a passing waiter.

Her hands trembled slightly.

She hated that they trembled.

She hated that Lucien still affected her.

She hated that despite everything—

a part of her still cared.

The music changed.

People began dancing.

The party grew louder.

Yet Arielle suddenly felt exhausted.

A strange pressure spread through her chest.

Not enough to draw attention

But enough to make her uncomfortable.

She discreetly pressed a hand against her chest.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

The sensation lingered.

Then worsened slightly.

Arielle swallowed.

Not now.

Please not now.

Nobody noticed.

Nobody was looking at her.

Everyone was too busy staring at Lucien.

Which was good.

Very good.

Because the last thing she wanted was attention.

She forced a smile.

Pretended she was fine.

Then quietly slipped away from the crowd.

One step.

Another.

Then toward the staircase.

Nobody stopped her.

Nobody asked questions.

And within moments she was climbing toward the upper floors.

The music grew fainter.

The noise disappeared.

Silence returned.

Arielle exhaled slowly.

The pressure in her chest remained.

The hallway upstairs stretched endlessly before her.

Luxurious.

Elegant.

The walls carried expensive paintings.

Golden sconces illuminated the corridor.

Dark marble reflected the soft lighting.

Everything screamed wealth.

Moretti wealth.

Arielle continued walking.

She needed somewhere quiet.

Just for a few minutes.

Just enough time to gather herself.

At the end of the hallway she spotted a door.

Half-open.

Perfect.

Without thinking much about it, she pushed it open.

And stepped inside.

The room was dark.

Very dark.

Only the city lights beyond the massive windows illuminated parts of it.

Arielle blinked.

Then froze.

The scent.

Cigarettes.

Cologne.

Leather.

Something about the room felt familiar.

Dangerously familiar.

Her eyes slowly adjusted.

A massive bed.

Dark furniture.

Tattoo sketches scattered across a desk.

Expensive watches.

Several half-empty whiskey bottles.

A black dress shirt lying carelessly across a chair.

Then her gaze landed on a framed photograph.

And her stomach dropped.

It was Lucien's room.

The moment Arielle realized whose room she had entered, her stomach dropped.

Lucien's room.

Of all the rooms in the mansion...

It had to be this one.

The scent alone should have warned her.

Cigarettes.

Leather.

Expensive cologne.

Everything about the room screamed Lucien.

Or rather—

the version of Lucien she no longer recognized.

Arielle quickly turned toward the door.

"I should leave."

The words had barely left her mouth when she collided with something solid.

Hard.

Warm.

Unmoving.

A startled gasp escaped her.

For a split second, she genuinely thought she'd walked into a wall.

Then the wall moved.

Arielle's eyes widened.

Her balance slipped.

A strong hand immediately caught her wrist.

Holding her steady.

Keeping her from falling.

Her breath caught.

Slowly—

very slowly—

she looked up.

And froze.

Lucien.

Standing right in front of her.

His red hair fell messily across his forehead.

His black shirt hung open.

Tattooed skin visible beneath the dim lighting.

Silver rings gleamed on his fingers.

The scent of cigarette smoke clung to him.

Arielle stared.

And for one horrible moment—

she didn't recognize him.

Lucien looked down.

His eyes landed on the hand holding her wrist.

Immediately—

his expression hardened.

He released her.

Fast.

As if touching her bothered him.

As if he'd made a mistake.

Arielle felt her chest tighten.

The gesture hurt more than it should have.

Silence settled between them.

Heavy.

Awkward.

Painful.

Then Lucien spoke.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice was cold.

Arielle swallowed.

"I didn't know it was your room."

A bitter laugh escaped him.

"Sure."

"I'm serious."

He didn't answer.

Didn't even look convinced.

Arielle took a breath.

"I wasn't trying to—"

"Why did you come?"

The question cut her off.

She blinked.

"What?"

"The party."

His eyes finally met hers.

Dark.

Dangerous.

"Why did you come?"

Arielle hesitated.

Then quietly answered.

"It's your birthday."

Something flickered across his face.

Gone almost instantly.

Replaced by anger.

"That wasn't the question."

Silence.

Arielle looked away.

"This isn't what you think."

Lucien laughed.

A harsh sound.

"Funny."

He took a step forward.

"Because I already know exactly what to think."

"Lucien—"

"Don't."

His voice sharpened.

Immediately.

Violently.

"Don't call me that."

Arielle froze.

Lucien took another step.

"You don't deserve to."

The words hit like a slap.

Arielle stared at him.

Hurt flashing across her face.

But Lucien wasn't finished.

"You lost the right to say my name three years ago."

Silence.

Painful silence.

Arielle's throat tightened.

For a moment neither spoke.

Then Lucien turned.

Clearly intending to leave.

Clearly done with this conversation.

Panic surged through her.

"Wait."

She reached out.

Her fingers wrapping around his hand.

Everything stopped.

Lucien slowly looked down.

At her hand.

Then back at her.

His expression was unreadable.

Which somehow made it worse.

"Take your hand off me."

Arielle froze.

"Lucien..."

His eyes darkened.

"I said take your hand off me."

Slowly—

she let go.

Lucien's jaw clenched.

"You don't get it, do you?"

His voice was low.

Dangerously low.

"You lost the right to touch me three years ago."

The room became silent again.

Arielle stared at him.

Really stared at him.

And suddenly—

everything she'd been trying to ignore hit her all at once.

The red hair.

The tattoos.

The piercings.

The cigarette smell.

The rings.

The coldness.

The anger.

The violence.

This wasn't her Lucien.

This wasn't the boy she knew.

"How?"

The word escaped her.

Lucien frowned.

Arielle shook her head.

Slowly.

Disbelief written all over her face.

"How did this happen?"

No response.

"You hated tattoos."

Silence.

"You hated smoking."

Nothing.

"You used to complain whenever someone smoked near you."

Still nothing.

Arielle felt tears threatening.

"You promised."

That got his attention.

His jaw tightened.

"Don't."

But Arielle continued.

"You promised me."

Her voice cracked.

"You promised you wouldn't become the man your father wanted."

Silence.

"You promised you wouldn't become a mafia boss."

The room felt colder.

"You promised you wouldn't become him."

Lucien looked away.

Arielle's voice softened.

More broken now.

"What happened to you?"

No answer.

"What happened to all of you?"

Lucien's eyes narrowed.

Arielle continued.

Because she couldn't stop anymore.

"Marco."

A sad laugh escaped her.

"Marco used to come to us with bruises every week."

A faint memory flashed through her mind.

Marco grinning despite a black eye.

Laughing despite being injured.

"He used to be an idiot."

The smallest ghost of a smile almost appeared.

Almost.

Then vanished.

"Now he's leading gangs."

Silence.

Arielle's chest hurt.

"Isabella."

Her voice grew quieter.

"She used to hate hospitals more than I did."

A painful smile appeared.

"Remember how she'd run away whenever I had to get injections?"

Nothing.

"Now she's studying medicine."

Arielle shook her head.

Still unable to understand.

"Elias doesn't even look at me the same anymore."

Silence.

"What happened while I was gone?"

The question lingered.

Heavy.

Raw.

Painfully honest.

Then Lucien snapped.

"You don't get to ask that."

Arielle flinched.

His voice echoed through the room.

"You don't get to talk about us."

Another step forward.

"You weren't there."

Another.

"You missed everything."

Another.

"You missed every fight."

His jaw tightened.

"Every loss."

Another.

"Every sacrifice."

His voice grew rougher.

More emotional.

"You weren't there."

Arielle felt tears gathering.

Lucien pointed toward the floor.

Toward the years between them.

Toward everything broken.

"You left."

Silence.

Arielle couldn't speak.

Couldn't defend herself.

Couldn't explain.

Because the truth remained trapped inside her.

And Lucien saw it.

Saw the hesitation.

Saw the silence.

Saw the secrets.

His laugh was bitter.

Broken.

"You want answers?"

His eyes locked onto hers.

For a moment—

just a moment—

she saw it.

Not hatred.

Not anger.

Not rage.

Hurt.

Pure hurt.

Three years of it.

Then it vanished.

Buried beneath walls she could no longer climb.

Lucien looked away.

Toward the door.

"You should've stayed."

The words came quietly.

Far quieter than anything he'd said all night.

And somehow—

they hurt the most.

Without another word, he walked past her.

Opened the door.

And left.

Because if he stayed one minute longer—

he wasn't sure whether he'd scream at her...

Or kill her on the spot.

And that answer terrified him far more than his anger ever could.

Arielle stood frozen in the middle of the room.

Unable to move.

Unable to think.

Unable to breathe.

The silence felt louder than his shouting.

Louder than his anger.

Louder than everything.

Her knees finally gave out.

She sank onto the edge of the bed.

Then covered her face with trembling hands.

A single tear escaped.

Then another.

Then another.

Soon she wasn't crying anymore.

She was breaking.

A sob tore from her chest.

Raw.

Painful.

Uncontrolled.

"No..."

Her voice cracked.

"No... no... no..."

This wasn't supposed to happen.

None of this was supposed to happen.

When she left three years ago, she thought she was protecting them.

Protecting Lucien.

Protecting Marco.

Protecting Isabella.

Protecting Elias.

She had convinced herself that if she disappeared, they would hate her.

And hatred was easier.

Hatred healed.

Hatred moved on.

At least that's what she had told herself.

But she had been wrong.

So horribly wrong.

Instead of healing—

they broke.

Instead of moving on—

they changed.

The Lucien she knew was gone.

The boy who hated violence.

Gone.

The boy who promised her he'd never become his father.

Gone.

The boy who laughed with her under the school trees.

Gone.

And somehow—

she was the reason

Arielle lowered her head.

Tears splashing onto her hands.

"I'm sorry..."

Her voice trembled.

"I'm sorry..."

Nobody was there to hear her.

Nobody.

The room remained silent.

She cried harder.

Could she really fix this?

Could she really make up for three years of pain?

Three years of hatred?

Three years of believing she abandoned them?

In just seven months?

Seven months.

The number haunted her.

The deadline.

The secret.

The reason she left.

The reason she came back.

Seven months.

Arielle pressed a shaking hand against her chest.

God.

She was running out of time.

The pressure returned.

Stronger this time.

Pain twisted through her body.

A warning.

The doctors had warned her countless times.

Don't stress yourself.

Don't overwork yourself.

Avoid emotional strain.

But how?

How was she supposed to stay calm?

Everything was falling apart.

Lucien hated her.

Isabella hated her.

Everyone hated her.

And she couldn't even tell them why.

Another sob escaped her.

"I never wanted this..."

The words broke apart.

"I never wanted any of this..."

Her shoulders shook violently.

She wished she could go back.

Back to when they were sixteen.

Back to before the goodbye.

Back to before the secrets.

Back to before the sickness.

If she could turn back time—

she would.

Without hesitation.

She'd choose them.

Every single time.

The pain in her chest intensified.

Arielle suddenly doubled over.

A hand covering her mouth.

A cough escaped.

Then another.

Her eyes widened.

A small spot of blood stained her palm.

"No..."

The whisper barely left her lips.

Not now.

Please.

Not now.

The doctors had already told her.

Her condition—Dilated Cardiomyopathy, a serious disease that weakened her heart muscle—could worsen under severe physical or emotional stress.

And tonight—

she had pushed herself too far.

Another cough.

More blood.

Arielle quickly grabbed a handkerchief from her purse.

Trying to hide it.

Even though nobody was there.

Her entire body trembled.

"Stupid..."

She laughed through tears.

A broken laugh.

"You stupid heart..."

The room blurred.

Tears mixed with exhaustion.

Pain.

Regret.

She curled inward.

Small.

Fragile.

And for the first time in years—

Arielle allowed herself to admit the truth.

She was scared.

Terrified.

Not of dying.

But of leaving them again.

Before they knew the truth.

Before Lucien forgave her.

Before Isabella smiled at her again.

Before Marco called her annoying.

Before everything was fixed.

The thought shattered what little composure she had left.

She buried her face in her hands.

Crying harder than before.

"Please..."

Her voice cracked.

"Please let me fix this first..."

Another sob.

"Just a little longer..."

The city lights beyond Lucien's windows continued shining.

The music downstairs continued playing.

The birthday party continued without pause.

Nobody knew that upstairs—

the girl everyone hated was quietly falling apart.

Alone.

And with every passing day—

her seven months were slowly becoming less and less.