Back then, I had blamed myself.
I had thought I had crossed some boundary without realizing.
Now, it seemed the rule had never been that no one could touch it.
Only that I could not.
How ridiculous.
I used to tell myself that love required patience, understanding, and sacrifice. I had smoothed over every sharp edge until I could pretend it no longer hurt.
But love and indifference had never looked alike.
I had only been too blind to tell them apart.
“Selene,” Lucian said, watching me carefully, clearly displeased by my calm. “I know I shouldn’t have left that day. But it was a matter of life and death.”
Life and death.
The words sounded hollow now.
I picked up my phone again, opened Rosalie’s post, enlarged the image, and turned the screen toward him.
“Life and death is one thing,” I said quietly. “Then what is this?”
His expression shifted slightly.
“Lucian,” I continued softly, a faint trace of mockery threading through my voice, “do you remember the day you shouted at me for touching your first racing trophy?”
I held his gaze.
“Do you remember what you said to me back then?”
