Lysandra leaned back in her clinic chair, exhaling deeply as her last patient exited. The scent of antiseptic still lingered in the air, mingled with the soft rustling of paperwork and faint clicks from her computer.
A knock on the door.
Nurse Camille peeked her head inside. "Doctor Lysandra, you have a visitor… she said she's Madeline Vilmire."
Lysandra's heart paused for a beat. Caveen's fiancée. And… Elias's sister.
She stood slowly. "Show her in."
Moments later, Madeline entered, dressed in an elegant cream dress and heels too polished for a casual visit. Her smile was poised, lips soft like a diplomat's, but her eyes… her eyes were searching.
"Hi," Madeline greeted, extending a hand. "I was wondering if you'd be willing to join me for a short walk. There's a lovely park nearby, and I think a little air might do us both good."
Lysandra forced a polite smile and nodded. "Of course."
---
The park was quiet, leaves rustling in the gentle afternoon breeze. They walked side by side, heels sinking softly into the earth. Children laughed in the distance. Somewhere, birds chirped in unbothered harmony.
Madeline was the first to speak.
"You know… Elias really adores you. He talks about you a lot."
Lysandra chuckled softly. "Elias is a good man. But he's just a friend."
Madeline smiled, but there was a flicker in her gaze—something unreadable. "I figured. Still… I always hoped you'd be my sister-in-law. Maybe one day."
Lysandra raised a brow, amused but cautious. "Elias wants to die single as I know. But thank you for accepting me but we cannot and will not happen."
Madeline nodded slowly. "Speaking of… Caveen." She hesitated. "I noticed something. At the engagement party. When he saw you… he changed. He seemed distracted after that. Quiet. Cold."
Lysandra's lips tightened into a polite line. "He's just an old acquaintance. A family friend."
True. And yet, not.
Madeline touched her hand gently. "Do you know… how I met him?"
Lysandra said nothing. Madeline continued, voice soft like wind threading through glass.
"It was years ago. I was a trainee. He was already a renowned doctor at that prestigious hospital. The moment I saw him, I knew I'd never look at anyone else. He was cold. Distant. But I chased him. For years."
Lysandra glanced sideways, silent.
Madeline's voice grew even quieter. "Eventually, he acknowledged me. We dated. But… he never touched me. Never kissed me. Not even once."
She turned to Lysandra, eyes shining with unasked questions.
"There was always someone in his past. A ghost. Someone unreachable. I tried everything. Seduction. Devotion. But I couldn't reach the part of him that was already… gone."
Madeline paused, her voice trembling. "Tell me. Are you the one in his past?"
Silence fell like a winter storm.
Lysandra turned away, her jaw clenched, her voice low and bitter. "Sometimes… what's buried deep should never be dug up again, Madeline."
She turned, eyes meeting hers—no longer soft.
"Yes. I belong in his past. But me to him… it wasn't about love. Not anymore." Her voice was sharper now, raw with pain and rage. "We were once in love. But now, we are the perfect reflection of hatred. That's all that's left."
Madeline stood frozen.
Hatred?
So this was the reason Caveen had told her, so confidently, that Lysandra wouldn't be a problem. That she wouldn't get in the way of the wedding.
Because they hated each other.
Madeline cleared her throat. "Maybe… maybe you two should talk. Settle the past, so it doesn't poison your future."
Lysandra laughed bitterly. "If I ever talk to him again, Madeline… it'll be with a bullet."
Madeline gave a soft, nervous laugh, unsure if she was joking. But Lysandra's expression remained dead serious.
And just like that, the tension faded. The two women sat for a while, sipping coffee from a nearby vendor and speaking lightly of flowers, seasons, and books they pretended to have time for.
As the sky began to turn orange, they stood.
"It was good seeing you," Madeline said gently. She reached into her purse and held out a cream-colored envelope. "Our wedding. I'd like you to come."
Lysandra hesitated—then smiled, calm and unreadable.
"I'll think about it."
They parted ways beneath the fading sun.
And as Lysandra walked away, her fingers tightened around the invitation like it burned.
The Vilmire estate was quiet as dusk bled into night, casting golden rays through the stained-glass windows. Caveen stood by the balcony, shirt sleeves rolled up, a glass of scotch untouched in his hand. The cold wind kissed his skin, but it wasn't the wind that stirred the storm in his chest.
It was the scent.
Lysandra's scent.
Faint… but fresh.
His gaze sharpened.
She had been near.
He turned just as the ornate doors opened and Madeline stepped inside, her heels clicking against the marble like tiny hammers against his temples.
She looked radiant, glowing in the soft light. But there was a strange lightness in her steps, and an envelope in her hand.
"Where were you?" Caveen asked sharply, not bothering to hide his mood.
Madeline blinked, then smiled. "I visited someone."
He didn't speak.
"I went to see Lysandra."
The glass in his hand cracked. The silence that followed was suffocating.
"You did what?" His voice was low. Dangerous.
Madeline took a breath, trying to ease the tension. "I just wanted to talk. Woman to woman. I thought maybe—"
"You thought?" His voice snapped like thunder. "Who gave you the right to speak to her?"
Madeline flinched. "Caveen, I didn't mean harm. I only—"
"What did you tell her?" His tone dropped, deadly calm. "What exactly did you say?"
"I told her about how we met. How I've always known there was someone in your past." Her voice quivered slightly, but she held his gaze. "I asked if it was her."
Caveen's eyes darkened. His jaw clenched so tight a vein pulsed in his neck.
"She admitted it, Caveen," Madeline continued, her voice faltering. "She said you both once loved each other… but now it's only hatred."
He stared at her. Silent. Breathing uneven.
Hatred?
That's what she said?
A storm brewed behind his eyes.
"She said… if she ever speaks to you again, it'll be through a bullet."
Something inside him snapped.
Caveen moved before he could think—slamming the glass against the wall, shattering it into glinting shards.
Madeline gasped, stepping back.
"You had no right," he growled. "She's not someone you just visit for a chat over tea."
"I just wanted peace between us!" Madeline shouted now, her composure cracking. "I thought maybe if you two settled it, maybe then you'd—"
"Then I'd what?" he snapped, his voice laced with venom. "Kiss you? Sleep with you? Pretend she never existed?"
Madeline's face fell. Her eyes welled with tears, but she stood tall.
"I gave her our wedding invitation," she whispered.
Silence.
Pure. Cold. Final.
"You did what?" he whispered.
"I thought she deserved to know. That she could see we're moving on—"
"She's mine," Caveen said, his voice barely human. "She will never belong to anyone else."
"Then why are you marrying me?" Madeline asked, her voice cracking. "Why are we doing this, Caveen?"
He turned his back to her.
"I don't know anymore."