Chapter 67: There’s No Such Thing As True Love....

I sit on the edge of my bed, the weight of the evening pressing down on my shoulders like a hand I can’t shake off. My fingers twist into the sheets—knotting the fabric, nails digging deep into the silk. The cool fabric does nothing to ease the heat crawling up the back of my neck.

What the hell am I doing?

The question loops through my mind, endless and suffocating.

At the dinner table. I touched him again. My hand reached for his face before my mind could catch up—before I could remind myself to stop. My body is moving on its own these days, acting without permission, without reason, without the cold calculation I’ve always relied on to keep the world at arm’s length.

Sum’s voice echoes in my skull, unwanted and relentless.

Ellis... are you in love?

I shake my head—a sharp, violent motion, like I’m trying to dislodge something stuck in my throat.

Damn you, Sum. Your useless voice. Your useless questions.

Love? Me?

The word feels foreign even inside my own head. Impossible. Especially with a Beta. Especially with him.

The world is full of lies. I’ve known that truth for a long time—since I was ten years old, since I started hearing the thoughts behind the smiles.

There’s no such thing as true love.

Only convenience. Only transactions. Only people who need something from you and dress it up in soft words so you’ll let them close.

I stand up. My legs feel heavy, my feet pressing into the cold floor like I’m wading through something thicker than air.

I walk to the glass wall.

Outside, the garden glows in warm golden light—soft, warm, almost alive. White roses sway in the night air, their petals catching the glow like scattered pearls. The darkness behind them makes them shine brighter, more fragile, like they’re too delicate to survive the dark around them.

I stare at them.

I just need to keep my distance. Once the two months are over, he’ll go back to his country. Back to his life. And mine will return to normal. Like before.

Cold. Quiet. Alone.

The way I like it.

I cross my arms over my chest. Take a deep breath—slow, deliberate, pulling the cold night air into my lungs until it burns.

Ellis. Relax.

A knock at the door.

Soft. Just a whisper of sound, like someone afraid of being heard. I don’t need to ask who it is. Of course it’s him. It’s always him.

I don’t move. Don’t answer.

He’ll go away. I’m not in the mood to see his innocent face. Or his shining eyes. Not tonight.

I stand there for a long while. Watching the white roses bend and sway in the wind, their petals trembling like they’re cold. The silence stretches between me and the door—thick, heavy, a wall I’ve built with my own stubbornness.

Then I turn. Walk to my bed. My gaze shifts to the door. And I catch something.

A shadow. Thin and dark, seeping through the sliver of light beneath the door.

He’s still standing outside.

My brows pull together, tightening into a knot of frustration.

Why is he always so stubborn?

I walk to the door. My footsteps are slow, measured, each one carrying the weight of a decision I haven’t made yet. My hand reaches for the handle. Hesitates.

Then I open it.

Our eyes meet.

Silas stands outside, clutching his notebook and pencil against his chest like they’re the only things keeping him upright. His knuckles are pale around the spiral binding. He looks at me—blinks—and there’s something in his eyes that I can’t name. Something soft. Something waiting.

"What are you doing here?"

He opens his notebook. Takes out a note—already folded, already written—and hands it to me with fingers trembling just slightly around the edge of the paper.

I look down.

Are you angry with me? Because I teased you? I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise.

The words are neat. Careful. Like he spent time making sure each letter was perfect before he brought it to me.

My twisted brows slowly straighten.

He’s here... apologizing.

Standing in my doorway in the middle of the night, holding that notebook between us like protection, because he thought I was angry at him.

I look at him. My voice comes out quieter than I intended. "I’m not angry." A pause. "You don’t need to apologize."

A soft smile spreads across his lips—slow, warm, breaking across his face before he can stop it. He writes another note quickly, his pencil moving across the page with an urgency that makes me curious despite myself.

He hands it to me.

Then let me come into your room. Let’s talk for a while.

I look at him.

"No."

His smile fades. Just a little. Just enough for me to notice. Then he pouts.

Dramatically. His bottom lip pushes forward, his eyes widening as he looks at me like a child who’s just been denied something precious.

I look away.

Not this time. I’m not falling for that pout.

"No. I’m sleepy. Go back to your room."

He moves his face closer to mine—close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath, can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

He blinks. Slowly. Deliberately.

Please...

I raise my hands. Both palms press against the doorframe, blocking the way between us.

"No means no."

Silas looks at my hands. His expression shifts—something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then he looks down. Steps back. His shoulders drop, curling inward like a flower closing its petals at sunset.

Defeated.

A smirk spreads across my lips.

Good.

Then—

Quickly. Too quickly.

He steps forward. Bends down—just a little, just enough—and slips past my hands, darting into my room.

I look down at the empty space where he was standing. My eyes widen with surprise.

What was that?

I turn quickly. Look back.

Silas is sitting on my bed, clutching my pillow against his chest like a shield—or maybe like a treasure. His arms are wrapped tightly around it, his fingers pressed into the fabric. A bright smile spreads across his lips, wide and unapologetic.

I stare at him.

He blinks.

"You want to fight?" My voice drops lower, rougher. "Fine."

I walk toward him. My steps are slow, deliberate, each one closing the distance between us.

I catch his wrist.

"Go back to your room."

He slips free—quick and slippery, like water through my fingers—and moves to the other side of the bed.

I climb onto the mattress. My knees dig into the soft sheets, leaving indentations in the silk. The bed dips beneath my weight.

"Silas..."

A soft smile stays on his lips. And without realizing it—without meaning to—a smile spreads across my lips too.

Small. Reluctant. But there.

The sheets rumple beneath us, tangling around my knees. I move left—he moves right. I lunge—he dodges. His laughter is silent, but I can see it in the crinkle of his eyes, the way his shoulders shake.

Finally, I catch him.

My hands close around both his wrists. I pin him down against the bed. His back hits the soft sheets with a muffled thud, the pillow slipping from his grasp and falling to the floor. I lean over him, caging him beneath me completely.

"I finally caught you."

His eyes lock with mine. Smiling. His hair is messy now—tangled from running, brown strands falling across his forehead, sticking to his temple. My own dark hair falls messily across my eyes as I hover above him.

I stare at him.

Slowly—slowly—my own smile fades.

What am I supposed to do with this stubborn boy?