11. ALINA

He wiped his eyes, his hand trembling as he did so, and forced himself to look away from the screen. The pain was too much, too raw, and he knew that if he lingered any longer, he would lose himself to it completely. He had responsibilities, a role to play, and he couldn't afford to be weak. Not now, not ever.

But even as he tried to harden his heart, to push the pain aside, he knew that it would never truly go away. The new Alina might look like her, might sound like her, but she would never be her. And that knowledge was a weight he would carry with him for the rest of his immortal life—a burden that no amount of power or wealth could ever lighten.

Caelan stood, his movements slow and deliberate, and walked over to the locked drawer where the locket was kept. He opened it with a key that hung around his neck, the small, silver chain hidden beneath his shirt. The locket was beautiful, crafted from the finest materials, and it shone in the dim light of the office. He held it in his hand, feeling the cool metal against his skin, and closed his eyes as he imagined what it would have been like to see her wearing it.

But that would never happen. The locket was just another reminder of what he had lost, another symbol of the life they would never have. With a heavy heart, he placed the locket back in the drawer and locked it away, sealing it—and the memories it held—behind a barrier that only he could break.

Caelan returned to his desk, his eyes lingering on the picture of Alina one last time before he closed the folder. The screen went dark, leaving him alone in the silence of his office, with nothing but his memories and the ache in his heart to keep him company.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the tasks that awaited him. He had work to do, plans to make, and a world that depended on him to keep it in order. But as he sat down and began to go through the endless stream of documents that required his attention, he couldn't shake the feeling that something vital had slipped through his fingers, something that he would never be able to get back.

And in that moment, as he stared at the meaningless words on the page before him, Caelan knew that no matter how much time passed, no matter how much he tried to move on, a part of him would always be lost in that memory, in that last kiss, in the love that had been taken from him too soon.

The relentless sound of the doorbell sliced through the stillness of the mansion, pulling Caelan from the depths of his thoughts. His chest tightened as he hastily straightened up, his mind racing to suppress the emotions that had consumed him just moments before. The memories of Alina, of what once was, still clung to him like a second skin, making it difficult to breathe.

The bell rang again, insistent and impatient. Caelan’s irritation spiked as he walked to the intercom, his fingers brushing against the cold metal buttons. "Who is it?" His voice was sharper than intended, betraying the turmoil brewing within him.

"Mrs. Lawrence, dear," came the familiar voice of the elderly woman who lived in the condo across the street. There was a warmth in her tone that was tinged with something more—concern, perhaps? "I hope I’m not bothering you, but I’ve brought someone who needs your help."

Caelan’s frown deepened. Mrs. Lawrence was always a kind presence, but this visit felt out of place, especially at this hour. He made his way to the front entrance, the soft glow of the chandeliers casting a golden hue across the grand hallway. As he reached the heavy door, his hand hovered over the handle for a moment, an inexplicable sense of unease washing over him.

With a deep breath, he pulled the door open and stepped outside, the cool night air immediately brushing against his skin. His eyes flickered to the iron gate at the edge of the driveway, its intricate designs cast in shadow by the moonlight. Mrs. Lawrence stood on the other side, her small frame almost lost in the oversized coat she wore.

But it was the figure standing beside her that froze him in his tracks.

Alina.

The sight of her sent a jolt through his heart, a visceral reaction that he couldn’t control. She looked just as she always did—her hair slightly tousled by the breeze, her mismatched eyes filled with a mix of uncertainty and something else, something that made his chest ache. But seeing her now, in this place, felt like a cruel twist of fate.

His expression shifted before he could stop it. A frown marred his features, the pain of seeing her so similar, yet so different, surfacing in the form of anger, confusion, and an overwhelming sense of loss. The memories he had tried so hard to bury threatened to spill over, and it took everything in him to keep them at bay.

Alina’s reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened, her breath catching as she took in his expression. The frown, the tension in his posture—it all pointed to one thing: he didn’t want her here. The realization hit her hard, making her feel small and insignificant. She had come here, driven by necessity, by a need for help, but now it seemed like a mistake.

She could barely meet his gaze as she took a step back, her heart hammering in her chest. The overwhelming urge to flee, to escape this painful encounter, took hold of her. It was too much, too raw, and the idea that he despised her presence cut deeper than she could have anticipated.

Caelan saw the fear and hurt flash in her eyes, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. The frown had been unintentional, a reflex born of the unresolved pain he carried, but it was too late. He could see it in her eyes—the misunderstanding, the belief that he loathed her very existence.

"Alina, wait—" His voice was rough, strained with the emotions he could no longer suppress.

But Alina didn’t hear him, or maybe she chose not to. She turned away, her movements hurried and desperate, as if she couldn’t bear to be in his presence any longer. The pain of rejection, of misunderstanding, burned in her chest, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she began to walk away, her pace quickening with each step.

Mrs. Lawrence, who had been silently observing the exchange, placed a gentle hand on Alina’s arm. "Dear, wait a moment. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding," she said softly, her voice filled with concern.

But Alina shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper as she replied, "I shouldn’t have come… I’m sorry."

She was about to leave when Mrs. Lawrence tightened her grip slightly, her eyes pleading with her to stay. "Please, Alina, don’t go. You came here for a reason, remember?"