Rebirth: Love me Again

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[EVE]

"I guess this isn't the right time," he said, his voice low and rough, still catching his breath. His words brushed against me like a caress, reigniting the embers that hadn't even begun to fade.

I couldn't tear my eyes from him—the way his chest rose and fell, the faint puff of mist from his lips in the cool air, and the unshakable heat simmering in his gaze.

His eyes met mine, and I saw it there: my flushed reflection, my desire, unguarded and laid bare.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He leaned in, his breath warm against my skin, and placed a soft, teasing kiss on my lips, leaving me reeling.

"Too bad," he murmured, his tone laced with mischief. "If you said

yes

to me . . . I wouldn't have stopped. But since we're not in a relationship

yet

, I guess this will have to do for now."

My heart thundered, my thoughts a whirlwind of emotion and desire.

Before I could respond, he stepped back, composed and infuriatingly calm. "Go and change, Eve," he said smoothly, as if he hadn't just unraveled me. "I'll finish preparing dinner."

And just like that, he turned back to the stove, as though nothing had happened, leaving me a trembling, flustered mess in his wake.

Embarrassment and frustration churned within me, a chaotic storm of emotions I couldn't quite contain. But beneath it all, a flicker of relief emerged. His reaction gave me the space I needed to quickly compose myself.

How could he be so composed when I was still trying to steady my legs and calm my pounding heart? Without another word, I spun on my heel and escaped to the bathroom.

As soon as I shut the door behind me, I leaned against it, closing my eyes and taking a deep, shaky breath. I could still feel the ghost of his touch, the press of his lips against mine. Enjoy more content from empire

I turned on the shower, letting the cold water pour over me in an attempt to quench the fire he'd left burning in my veins. My hands pressed against the tile as I whispered curses under my breath.

"Damn him," I muttered, though I knew it wasn't anger I felt—it was everything else.

Every glance, every word, every touch was pulling me closer to the edge, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold on.

What

were

we?

The questioned lingered in my head, unanswered.

We kissed like we couldn't get enough of each other, teetered on the edge of something more every time we were alone, but we had no label.

I stubbornly clung to my resolve, but it was cracking, crumbling beneath the weight of everything I felt for him.

Was it worth it in the end?

Every fiber of my heart wanted to scream

yes

—to surrender to him, to love him so freely, and let myself hope in the future he painted so vividly in his every word and action.

But I couldn't. Not yet.

I stubbornly clung to the past, the pain I had nursed like an old wound that refused to heal. If I gave in, if I let myself fall into him completely, wouldn't that mean everything I endured had been for nothing?

All the tears, the sleepless nights, the moments when I was in despair and alone in that island—wouldn't that make all of it meaningless?

I was torn, standing on a fragile bridge between two worlds: the past that had shaped me and the future he promised.

One hand held tightly to the memories of a woman who once cursed his name, swearing she'd never forgive him. The other reached toward the man who had spent every waking moment trying to prove he was no longer that person.

But the past . . . it was relentless, whispering to me.

Don't you dare forget what he did. Don't you dare forgive him.

And yet, there he was—waiting patiently. His eyes spoke of a love so deep, so raw, that it terrified me.

How could someone who had once caused me so much pain now look at me as if I were his entire world?

I could see the changes in him. He was trying—desperately, endlessly. Every action, every word, every look was proof of how far he had come for me. For us. He wasn't perfect, but he was real. He had scars of his own, burdens he carried silently.

Yet, whenever I met his gaze, I saw nothing but devotion. It radiated from him, warming the icy walls I'd built around my heart.

I hated how much I wanted to believe in him.

And maybe that was the crux of it all. Believing in him meant betraying the part of me that had fought so hard to survive without him. Believing in him meant risking the possibility of being hurt all over again.

But not believing in him?

That meant letting fear dictate my life. It meant sacrificing the chance at a future with someone who had already given me his whole heart.

Tears welled up in my eyes as the war between my head and my heart raged on. How could I ever find the strength to choose? And yet, deep down, I knew the real question wasn't whether I could forgive him or trust him.

It was whether I could forgive

myself

for wanting to.