his bride, my obsession

His feelings

Ch-3 his feelings

The house was quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that presses against your chest and makes you feel things you shouldn't.

I stood at the edge of the hallway, my hands buried in my pockets, listening to the faint echo of voices. Aaron's voice - sharp, cold - cutting through the air like a blade.

"You can't even do one thing right, Elena," he snapped from the dining room. "You embarrass me in front of my own family."

There was no reply from her. Just silence. That silence said everything.

A muscle in my jaw tightened. I told myself to walk away - that it wasn't my place, that whatever happened between them was none of my business. But then I heard the sound of a chair scraping back and footsteps leaving the room.

And then I saw her.

Elena.

She walked past the hallway light, her head lowered, her eyes glassy. Even in her sadness, there was something heartbreakingly soft about her - the way her hair fell loose over her shoulders, the way she held herself like she was trying not to fall apart in front of the walls that had seen too much.

I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was the flicker of pain on her face, or the guilt that my brother was the one causing it. But my feet moved before my thoughts could catch up.

"Elena," I called, my voice low.

She stopped. For a moment, she didn't turn around - like she was debating whether to pretend she hadn't heard me. Then, slowly, she looked over her shoulder.

Her eyes met mine, red-rimmed but defiant, like she'd already built her walls back up. "You shouldn't be here," she said softly.

"Maybe," I admitted, stepping closer. "But I couldn't just stand there."

Her lips parted, surprise flickering across her expression. "You heard?"

"Enough."

The single word carried more weight than I wanted it to. Enough to know she didn't deserve it. Enough to know my brother's bitterness was eating away at both of them.

She turned away, pretending to fix the edge of her shawl, her fingers trembling slightly. "It's fine, Damien. You don't have to get involved. He's just... stressed."

That word again. Stressed. She used it every time Aaron tore her down. Every time she was forced to hide her pain behind that polite calmness.

I took another step forward, the distance between us shrinking until I could see the faint shimmer of tears at the corner of her lashes. "You always defend him."

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. "He's my husband."

Something in my chest clenched. Yes. My brother.

I should've walked away. I should've kept my head down like I always did. But the way her voice broke on that single word made it impossible.

"Elena," I said quietly, "does he ever make you happy?"

Her silence was my answer.

The air grew thick, heavy, almost suffocating. The kind of silence that forces two people to hear each other's heartbeats.

She finally met my gaze again. "You shouldn't ask me that."

"I know," I whispered.

But I couldn't look away. Not from her eyes, not from the pain she tried to hide so well.

Something inside me shifted - something I couldn't stop. I reached out, almost without realizing it, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers brushed her skin for a fraction of a second, and the world seemed to still.

She froze, her breath catching.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, stepping back, guilt rushing in. "I shouldn't have-"

She shook her head, her voice barely audible. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Her words hit harder than they should have. Because I knew I was doing something wrong - by feeling this way, by wanting to protect her when I shouldn't.

I took a slow breath, trying to steady my pulse. "You deserve better than this," I said softly. "You deserve someone who sees you."

Her lips trembled slightly. "Don't, Damien..."

"Don't what?" I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.

She looked up at me then - and for a fleeting second, I saw something in her eyes. Something that mirrored my own struggle. Loneliness. Longing. A quiet ache that neither of us could name.

"Don't make it harder than it already is," she whispered.

And just like that, I knew. She felt it too.

I turned away, running a hand through my hair, trying to breathe past the storm building inside me. "You're right," I said hoarsely. "I won't."

But I couldn't make myself leave. Not yet.

"I'm sorry for what he said," I murmured instead. "You didn't deserve it."

She gave a small, shaky smile. "You don't have to apologize for him."

"I'm not," I said quietly. "I'm apologizing because I didn't stop him."

She looked at me for a long moment - really looked - and I could see her walls cracking, the exhaustion, the loneliness she'd carried for so long.

"Thank you," she said finally, her voice soft but sincere.

When she turned to leave, I felt that pull again - that irrational urge to stop her, to tell her she wasn't alone. But I didn't. I just stood there, watching her disappear down the hallway, her scent lingering faintly in the air.

And as the silence closed in again, one truth burned in my chest like fire.

She wasn't mine to want.

But I wanted her anyway.