Chapter 58
Chapter 58
(Raiden’s POV)
I stare at my reflection in the shattered mirror, each fractured shard mocking me with distorted echoes of failure.
Siena’s words ring mercilessly in my ears, looping endlessly through my mind. Her voice, raw and aching with betrayal, has left its imprint on my heart, carved deep enough to draw blood.
I press a fist against my chest, as if trying to silence the unbearable ache that pulses beneath my ribs.
How had I missed it so completely?
Have I truly been this blind, this callously indifferent, that even a basic act of kindness now tastes bitter, suspicious on her tongue?
My fingers graze the cool surface of the glass, tracing the jagged edges of the broken reflection, face staring back, splintered into a thousand shards–each one a reminder of how thoroughly I’ve shattered the bond between us.
It feels oddly fitting, this broken image, an accurate representation of who I’ve allowed myself to become–fractured, incomplete, a stranger to my own emotions.
My own greatest enemy.
I close my eyes, remembering her expression when she rejected my attempts at reconciliation–hurt shimmering beneath steely control, eyes blazing with unshed tears, her voice trembling yet firm.
“You don’t get to do this now, Raiden. You don’t get to pretend you suddenly care.”
Her words slice through me again, sharper than any blade. I grip the edge of the sink, knuckles whitening as I battle the turmoil within. The worst part is knowing she’s right–knowing my gestures of kindness must seem hollow, manipulative even, after years of dismissing her presence, her heart, her very existence.
Frustration and guilt warring violently within me, I pace the confines of the small room, feeling trapped by the truth. The air grows stifling, thick with regret, making each breath labored, heavy.
Horace stirs inside me, restless and unsettled–its presence a bitter reminder of the primal instinct I’ve denied for far too long.
A growl escapes my throat as I recall Zion’s blatant intentions toward Siena.
The memory ignites something dangerously possessive within me, an intensity I believed long extinguished.
How could she? What does she gain from such a betrayal?
Jealousy coils around my heart, squeezing painfully tight.
My fists clench involuntarily at the thought of him touching her, smiling at her, offering the warmth I was too selfish to give.
Why does it bother me now?
For years, I claimed indifference, believing myself immune to such primitive emotions. But now, confronted by the stark reality of losing her entirely, my heart rebels violently against the thought.
The hour is getting late as I force myself into the training grounds, needing to clear my head, hoping to find clarity in
movement.
Her silhouette appears at the edge of the practice field, and my steps stuttered to a halt.
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Chapter 58
Siena.
Something cold squeezes between my ribs, each breath becoming shallow and quick. She glides across the grass, each step placed carefully as if she’s crossing thin ice.
Her shoulders formed a straight line, chin lifted just slightly too high, and fingers curled into half–fists at her sides. The corners of her mouth twitched downward as our eyes meta deer catching the first whisper of a hunter’s approach.
Her frigid eyes cut me deeper than outright hostility ever could. She doesn’t look at me–not directly, not fully–her eyes skimming over me as if I am merely another fixture on the field, an obstacle to navigate.
“Is that nto what you deserve, oh great Aplha King?” Horace growls low, threatening.
He is not wrong. I’d be lying if I didn’t at least acknloddge how hot and painflly the indifference stings–a sharp twist of irony. How easily our roles have reversed. Once, she sought connection, warmth, love–things I dismissed carelessly. arrogantly.
Now that I desperately crave her acknowledgment, she offers cold formality instead.
I wish she would just scream.
Cry.
Something.
Anything.
“Square your shoulders,” I instruct, my voice clipped and professional. “The judges will mark us down if your posture collapses during the transition.”
Siena’s eyes flash, a brief spark of hatred before she adjusts her stance. “Better, husband?” The last word drips with venom. God, even when she despises me, her form is perfect. Five years together and she still moves like she’s part of me. We move through the routine, our bodies perfectly coordinated despite the chasm between our hearts.
“Your grip is too tight,” I say flatly, adjusting her fingers on my shoulder. “You’re leaving bruises.”
“How inconvenient for you,” she whispers, close enough that only I can hear. “Imagine having permanent marks from someone you trusted.”
I deserve that. I deserve worse.
“This competition is our last obligation,” I remind her, voice steady while my pulse hammers. “After next week, your lawyer can finalize everything.”
Her nails dig slightly deeper as we spin. “Can’t wait to sign those papers.”
The silence between us screams with every step, every turn, every forced point of contact. My eyes betray me, tracing the elegant lines of her face, the shadows beneath her eyes, the slight tremble in her fingers when our bodies press together.
I still remember when that trembling meant something else entirely.
“Let’s take five,” I announce abruptly when her wedding ring–still worn for appearances–catches the light.
“What’s wrong, Raiden? Afraid we’ll actually win and have to stand on that podium together?” Her smile is razor–sharp. Tell her you’d stand anywhere with her. Tell her you’d give up every trophy to go back.
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Chapter 58
“Your timing was off in the third sequence,” I say instead, my heart fracturing with each cold word. “If we don’t synchronize perfectly, the Mendozas will take gold.”
Her expression hardens as she drinks from her water bottle, her eyes never leaving mine. Has she always carried this fire, this unflinching ability to face what hurts her? My heart aches at the realization
“I’ll do you one better. Have a good day Raiden.”
“Siena-“I protest. “We’re not finished!”
My words fall on deaf ears. He boots crunch awya in the opposite direction. Whether I was finished or not is of no consequence–Siena is done.
***
“Raiden, can we talk? I miss you.”
“I cooked your favorite meal tonight, hoping you’d join me. Please stop by.”
“I had a rough day today. I could really use your company, even just for a few minutes.”
Her vulnerability seeps from the screen, raw and honest, reaching out desperately for connection.
My breath catches painfully as I realize the extent of my cruelty–not overt hostility, but something far worse: cold indifference, neglectful silence, the slow erosion of her trust and affection.
There’s something so final in these old messages. Something I did
not will myself to see.
I bury my face in my hands, heart pounding painfully as I fight the urge to scream out my frustration. How could I have been so blind, so utterly detached from the warmth she offered freely and consistently?
Now, faced with the bitter consequences, regret claws mercilessly at
my soul.
A sharp knock at the door interrupts my spiraling thoughts. “Raiden.”
Lila.
She is sharp with an air of unmistakebale contempt, “Have you seen how everyone fawns over Siena now? She’s manipulating them, playing the innocent victim. You can’t honestly be falling for her theatrics?”
I stare at her incredulously, suddenly aware of the ugly bitterness staining her voice, her eyes narrowed venomously in a way I’d never noticed before. Her eagerness to undermine feels wrong, malicious. Doubt creeps into my mind, casting long shadows of suspicion over every interaction we’ve ever shared.
“Perhaps I’ve been manipulated,” the words slip from me quietly, deliberately.
The declaration is startling in its honesty, but I have no regrets.
Lila recoils as if struck, eyes widening in shock, anger quickly replacing surprise.“What?” she demands, voice trembling with outrage. “How…how dare you-”
But I hold up a hand, silencing her protest. I’ve said enough. “Leave,” I murmur firmly, my voice edged with finality.
“Raiden-”
“Do as you are commanded!” I snap, the snarl inmy throat borne more fo Horace’s rage than any fury I could alone conjure. The sound of teh shattering phone ringing through my ears before my eyes have tiem to witness the cranage of glass that now litters the floor.
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Lila stares for a moment longer, defiance warring with disbelief, before she turns sharply, slamming the door behind her with a resounding echo.
Left alone, I sink to the floor, drained yet strangely relieved by this small respite, this small freedom.
I owe more than apologies. I owe action.
And perhaps, just perhaps, there is still time to mend what I’ve broken, piece by painful piece.
AD
