His Chains My Wings Chapter 16
Alivia tilted her head, a glimmer of understanding mingled with pity dancing in her gaze. “But you’re mistaken, Wesley. What you’ve always misjudged is not merely ‘obsession’; it’s the notion that even now, you still cling to the idea that I should be the one you can reclaim, the possession you can ‘start over’ with.”
Wesley felt a sharp jolt, as if an invisible needle had pierced through his thoughts, causing his pupils to contract in shock.
“You long for the version of me that existed in the mountain village, not out of guilt, but because back then I was the weakest, the one who needed you the most. I fit seamlessly into your desire to control everything around you.”
Alivia’s voice remained eerily flat, devoid of emotion. “And now you claim to possess nothing, so you wish to hold on to me.”
“This is fundamentally no different from the time when you believed I had nothing of my own and could be shaped to your will,” she continued, her words slicing through the air like a winter wind.
Leaning forward, she pierced through his last defenses with a gaze as sharp as an icy blade. “You have never truly loved me.”
“What you cherished was the shadow, the fragment of me that depended entirely on you, that saw you as a savior. The moment I began to think for myself, to stretch my own wings, to you, that was nothing short of betrayal.”
Wesley’s complexion turned a ghostly shade of pale, his lips quivering, yet he found himself rendered speechless, unable to utter a single word in response.
Alivia’s words had unearthed the most unbearable and raw truths buried deep within his heart, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.
She straightened up, her voice suddenly clear and cold, cutting through the tension like a knife. “I don’t hate you anymore, Wesley, because harboring hatred for you only wastes my time and emotions.”
With that final declaration, she turned on her heel and walked away, her steps unwavering, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation.
“From this moment forward, you are nothing but an irrelevant stranger to me.”
The door clicked shut softly behind her, yet the sound resonated like the final death knell in the hollow shell of Wesley’s world.
He stood frozen in place, his eyes glued to her resolute figure as it disappeared from view. In that instant, what washed over him was not anger, but an overwhelming, frigid emptiness that felt more chilling than death itself.
He had lost everything, and even the last remnants of himself that lingered in her heart had been utterly obliterated.
Everything had crumbled into dust.
One late night, Alivia jolted awake from a nightmare, her body drenched in cold sweat, heart racing in her chest.
In her dream, she found herself transported back to her previous life, where cold chains hung heavy from her ankles, binding her to a past she wished to escape.
But then, a pair of warm arms enveloped her in a comforting embrace, pulling her away from the darkness.
It was Sebastian.
He didn’t flick on the light; instead, he gently patted her back, his voice low and soothing. “Another nightmare?”
Alivia nodded against his chest, her body trembling slightly as she fought to regain her composure.
Sebastian paused for a moment, contemplating the weight of her distress, and then, without warning, he scooped her up into his arms.
“Let me take you somewhere,” he said softly, his determination evident.
Cradling her, he carried her into his top-floor restoration room—a sanctuary he rarely allowed anyone to enter.
Inside, the space was filled with an array of ancient artifacts waiting for restoration, and the air was rich with the scent of polished wood and history.
He gently set her down on a cushioned chair, then turned on a soft spotlight, its beam illuminating the worktable.
There, an ancient vase, adorned with cracks and imperfections, lay quietly, a testament to time and resilience.
Sebastian, wielding delicate tools, began embedding thin sheets of gold leaf into the web-like fissures, his movements precise and careful.
“This technique is called golden joinery,” he explained, his voice resonating clearly in the quiet room. “It originated from abroad, but its aesthetic core is rooted in the philosophy of ‘making the most of things, cherishing objects to preserve blessings.’”
He paused his work, turning to face Alivia, his deep eyes filled with sincerity.
“Ali,” he said, moving closer, kneeling on one knee as he took her hand in his. “You are like this vase. Your past, all the hurt, betrayal, and pain, those are the cracks that mark you.”
His fingertips brushed gently against her cheek, his gaze filled with reverence and tenderness.
“I don’t want to, nor am I able to erase those cracks. But I am willing to use all the love, respect, and companionship I have left in my life to be the gold dust that traces your scars. Let them no longer be sources of shame but the most resilient totems of your spirit.”
In that moment, tears streamed down Alivia’s face, falling unbidden.
It wasn’t sadness that overwhelmed her; it was a profound release, as if some heavy shackle had finally shattered.
Leaning down, she pressed her lips against his, taking the initiative, as if sealing a promise that transcended words.
