Chapter 525 Does It Hurt?
The car interior was in complete disarray.
Calliope's face glistened with perspiration, her dark hair clinging to her forehead in damp strands. She kept her eyes tightly shut, refusing to look at him even once.
How could she bear to? She had finally begun building a new life, only to be dragged back into this nightmare.
If she were a young, unmarried woman, she could press charges and forget this ever happened before starting fresh with Pembroke. But she wasn't—she had a history with Octavius, a marriage that would make others assume they were simply rekindling an old flame. And given Octavius's powerful connections, Oliver would never approve of any scandal. Adult choices always came with sacrifices, and she understood this all too well.
She slowly sat up, clutching her clothes to her chest as silent tears streamed down her face. There was no hysteria, no screaming—just the quiet devastation of tears.
Octavius sat beside her, having zipped his pants but leaving his shirt unbuttoned. The predatory look had vanished from his face, replaced by something that might have been tenderness as he reached out to touch her cheek. "Are you hurt?" he asked softly.
Calliope slapped his hand away violently. "Don't touch me! Don't you dare touch me, Octavius."
Her entire body trembled as she wrapped her arms around herself, seeking some semblance of security. She recoiled from any contact with him.
When Octavius called her name repeatedly and received no response, he finally wrapped his jacket around her shoulders, carefully buttoning it before lifting her from the car.
The last traces of sunset painted the sky in soft purples, creating an almost ethereal beauty as the tall, imposing man carried the woman up the stone steps, through the opulent foyer, and into the master bedroom on the second floor.
The room was decorated in English style—Calliope's preferred aesthetic—with luxurious furnishings and white curtains that danced gently in the evening breeze beside massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Once, this had been everything Calliope dreamed of, but now it only filled her with dread.
He placed her on the plush bed, bracing his hands on either side of her body as his blue eyes bore into hers. Calliope turned her face away, and where she was usually so vibrant and full of life, she now lay motionless like a broken doll, her slender legs dangling over the edge of the bed.
"Let me get something to treat your injuries," Octavius said, his voice catching as he took in her delicate form.
She refused to acknowledge him.
He leaned closer, his face inches from hers, his voice low and rough. "Calliope, I will never let you go to him. You're mine again now, and no matter what happens, Pembroke will never accept you after this."
He pulled out his phone and opened the photo gallery, revealing an intimate photograph he had taken in the car—her body entwined with his, her shoulders glistening with perspiration, her beautiful face flushed with passion.
Calliope stared at the image in silence. Then, summoning every ounce of strength she had left, she struck him across the face with devastating force.
"You're going to show that to Pembroke?" she screamed, her voice raw with anguish. "Octavius, you've already destroyed me—do you want to brand me as damaged goods for the rest of my life? Do you want to ensure I can never hold my head up again?
"You claim you love me, that you want to be with me, but that's not love. You just can't stand the thought of someone else having what once belonged to you. Otherwise, how could you have so easily planned to marry Seraphine? And when that didn't work out, you decided you wanted me back!
"I'm a human being, Octavius, not some pet you can reclaim at will. I have feelings, and I can love someone else."
Her voice broke with despair. "But you've killed that love with your own hands, destroyed my happiness piece by piece. You must be so proud of yourself, watching me fall apart again and again. Even if Pembroke and I are finished, I will never choose you."
She struggled to sit up, telling herself that even if she died, she wouldn't die beside him or bear his name.
Octavius pressed her back down, both of them sinking into the soft mattress as he cupped her face in one hand. "If you don't want the photo, I'll delete it. Calliope, I never intended to show it to Pembroke—how could I bear to let another man see you like that?"
The thought of her being with someone else gnawed at him, though he knew he had no right to such jealousy given his own indiscretions during their separation.
When she tried to leave, he wouldn't let her. Instead, he reached for a silk tie from the nightstand and bound her wrists.
She stared in shock before finding her voice. "What are you doing? Octavius, let me go! Let me go!"
"I need to tend to your injuries," he said quietly, though the joy of having her back had completely evaporated. She didn't want him—she would rather have that young man than him.
As he applied the medication, his body betrayed him with an unwelcome physical response. The atmosphere grew charged with tension.
She looked at him with cold contempt and disgust.
After a moment, she went limp, lying flat on the bed as she spoke with eerie calm. "You've had your revenge. As you wanted, Pembroke and I are finished. When will you let me go?"
Octavius capped the ointment and helped her with her clothes. After a long pause, he said quietly, "I'll be staying in Evergreen City for two weeks. Calliope, we have a foundation—a history together. Given time, I believe you'll come to accept my feelings again, accept me."
"Never," she whispered, staring at the ceiling. "Never again."
At that moment, her phone rang. It was Pembroke.
Before Octavius could speak, she said with the hollow voice of the walking dead, "Untie me. I'll break up with him over the phone."
After a moment's consideration, Octavius freed her hands and returned her phone.
Calliope kept her word. Without revealing where she was or what had happened, she calmly told Pembroke they weren't compatible—that their family backgrounds were too different and he was too young for her.
"Let's end this," she said simply.
When Pembroke pressed for answers, she hung up and turned off the phone. Octavius felt a surge of satisfaction and moved to embrace her, but Calliope sat staring at the dark screen as tears began to fall—first one, then another, dropping onto the phone like rain.
She curled up at the head of the bed like a heartbroken teenager, clutching a pillow as she wept with quiet, devastating sorrow.
Octavius felt his own heart shatter. She was the woman he loved, but she had truly fallen for someone else.
He tilted his head back, struggling to maintain his composure as he asked, "Is he really that wonderful? That unforgettable? Calliope, we had ten years together—ten years. Doesn't that mean more than six months with some boy?"
"What do you love about him? How am I not enough?"
His voice had grown hoarse with pain. The words "I love you" seemed impossible to say now, and he finally understood that some people, once lost, could never be reclaimed.
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