Chapter18:Anger
1176 Words
The plane touched down on a humid Brisbane afternoon. Salt from the coast mixed with hot asphalt and diesel. Austin’s black sedan waited in the small airport lot, engine purring low, windows dark against the late sun.
He stepped out, stretching, but his mind wasn’t on the heat. It was on Selene—on the fear she still carried, the way she curled into herself when she thought no one saw. On the nightmare his family had forced her into.
The drive to the apartment was quiet. Roads curved along the Brisbane River, city buildings glinting, but all Austin saw was the wreckage his parents had left behind. He parked outside the low-profile complex he’d chosen—secure, discreet, blending into the city.
He pressed the elevator button, took a deep breath. Months of protecting her, scheming for her safety, and now—after every secret, manipulation, horror—she had to face him.
He tapped on her door.
“Selene? It’s me,” he said, voice low and steady.
The door flew open.
She stood there, fists clenched, face flushed with fury. Blue eyes stormed, blazing with heat that made his chest seize.
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, stepping back like the space between them could shield her. “Don’t even try to explain.”
Austin’s jaw locked. “Selene—”
“You think I don’t know?” she cut in, voice rising sharp. “You think I don’t understand my parents are gone because of your family? That I’m an orphan because of them—and you?”
The words landed like blows. He opened his mouth, but nothing came.
Selene stepped closer, trembling—not with fear, with rage. “And you! I don’t get it… why did I ever fall for you? Why did I ever think you were different? You’re part of this! You breathe the same air as them! You’re just another murderer in a suit pretending to care!”
Murderer. The word sliced deep, unforgiving.
“Selene…” His voice cracked. “I didn’t—”
“You didn’t what?” she demanded, tears pricking but not falling. “You didn’t stop it? You didn’t tell me? You didn’t protect them when it mattered? My parents trusted your family—and they paid with their lives!”
Austin flinched. Every word carved into him. He wanted to reach for her, hold her, but he stayed still, letting her fire burn.
“I’m so sorry,” he said softly, raw. “I didn’t know the full extent. If I had… I would’ve done anything to save them.”
Her laugh was bitter, jagged. “Anything? Where were you when I lost them? When I had to survive alone because of your family?”
His throat burned. “I couldn’t stop what I didn’t know.”
“You couldn’t stop it?” Her voice broke, rage and grief colliding. “You’re telling me you’re innocent?”
“I’m not innocent,” he said quietly, voice almost gone. “I failed you. I failed them. And I’ll spend every day fixing it if you’ll let me.”
Selene’s fists dropped, shaking. She searched his face—for lies, for guilt. Instead she found pain. Deep, undeniable pain.
Anger still burned, but it cracked.
“You don’t get it,” she whispered. “Every time I close my eyes, I see them. Mum in the kitchen. Dad coming home late, coat still on, talking about patients and ethics and how some money isn’t worth blood.” Her voice fractured. “They died because they refused to be monsters.”
Austin’s throat tightened. He didn’t interrupt.
She turned to the window, hands gripping the sill, skyline blurring behind tears. “I lost everything. Then I met you. For the first time, I felt like maybe I wasn’t alone.”
She laughed weakly. “Do you know how cruel that feels now?”
He stepped closer—slow, careful. “I wish I could take that pain from you. I can’t. But I can sit in it with you. I can carry it with you.”
She turned slowly.
Her eyes searched his—not for guilt anymore. For truth.
“You really didn’t know,” she said. Not a question.
“No. But I’m choosing to know now. Even if it destroys everything I came from.”
Silence.
Then she whispered, “I hate your family.”
He nodded. “You have every right.”
“I hate what they did to mine.”
“I do too.”
Her lips trembled. “And I hate that I still—” She stopped, shaking her head.
Austin waited.
“I hate that I still feel safe when you’re here,” she finished.
That broke him.
Not into passion—into something softer. He stepped forward, arms open, giving her time to pull away.
She didn’t.
She collapsed into him.
Selene clutched his shirt like it was the only thing holding her up. Quiet sobs shook her—the kind that came from years of buried hurt.
“I didn’t choose this,” she whispered against his chest. “I didn’t choose to be strong.”
“I know,” he murmured, hand cradling the back of her head. “You shouldn’t have had to be.”
They stood like that—long, still—no rush, just two broken people holding each other in a city that didn’t know their names.
He pulled back slightly, thumb brushing a tear from her cheek. Their eyes locked. Heat flickered—raw, desperate.
He leaned in slow, testing.
She met him halfway.
The kiss started gentle—tentative, almost careful—then deepened. Hungry. Needy. Her fingers dug into his shoulders like she needed to anchor herself to him. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer, bodies pressing tight. She tasted like salt and longing.
He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down her neck—slow, deliberate. She gasped, head tilting back, fingers threading through his hair. He kissed lower, along her collarbone, then back to her mouth—deeper this time, tongues brushing, heat building fast.
She enjoyed it. Felt safe. Wanted.
Later, when anger had dulled to exhaustion, Selene pulled back just enough to breathe.
“You can stay,” she said, voice hoarse. “But just… stay. No promises. No fixing everything tonight.”
Austin nodded. “Okay.”
He didn’t push. Didn’t ask for more.
They lay on opposite sides of the bed at first, space heavy between them. Eventually she shifted closer—then closer still—until she curled into his side, head on his chest.
His arm wrapped around her instinctively.
Her hand found his.
He squeezed gently.
Outside, Brisbane hummed ordinary life.
Inside, they rested in fragile truce—anger and love tangled tight, knowing truth was still coming, forgiveness—if it ever came—would be slow.
But for tonight, neither had to think about anything.
And that mattered.
- Writer
