AGAROS : The Love Betrayal

« In the shadow of every exchanged glance, there was the promise of tension. »

Chapter IV

Once again, I was stunned. Maybe Doctor Marius's pill worked miracles. Since this morning, I hadn't felt that overwhelming fatigue, and the pain, that constant poison, hadn't yet consumed me. It was strange, living in a different reality when the one I was used to seemed so distant. I had to make the most of this reprieve before everything returned to how it was, before the numbness and suffering came back. Time seemed to stretch, like a promise that had to be savored.

I felt the freedom of the moment, but it was tinged with a quiet fear, as if every second of respite brought me closer to the fall. The pain, I knew, would return someday, but I had this strange sense that it was already grazing me, ready to swallow me when I was no longer prepared. Was this the promise of a mirage, or a last gasp of life before the inevitable?

I had finished the book. My hands trembled slightly, not from weakness, but from a new excitement, the one this text had ignited within me. Thirty-four shades to serve. A reading that had shaken me, consuming me with a strange fire I couldn't ignore. I never thought I could feel that way from reading. My rose, too, seemed to have awakened. How had we, as women, forgotten this? Why should we suppress our passions when men could fulfill theirs without judgment?

I had often thought that erotic literature was indecent. Today, I reveled in every page. It was ironic. Lauriane had pushed me to read these books, forcing me to explore this territory I once despised. Now, I no longer felt shame. Maybe it was Lauriane who had led me to this unexpected liberation. Maybe that's what our friendship was really about: fulfilling, through reading, the desires I had buried.

I still remembered her words, the ones she whispered one evening: "You'll see, it can set you free. You have nothing to lose, except your chains." And in a way, she was right. Each page I turned, each line of that book made me feel a little more detached from society's expectations, from what was expected of a woman like me. But at the same time, part of me was worried. What if it was all an illusion? A distorted mirror of my desires? But liberation, even fragile, was such a rare and precious feeling.

I left the book on the edge of the bed and stood up. My feet instinctively carried me toward the vanity. My reflection stared back at me in the mirror. My hair fell in rebellious strands over my forehead, and I found myself thinking about bangs. Bangs like the heroine of the book, that bold and free woman.

I headed toward the closet, not really knowing why. Chaos had taken over the room; the hangers swayed under my hands like lifeless objects. I tore open the wardrobe, scattering clothes everywhere, until my gaze fell on a brown sweater. It reached just above my knees and draped over my right shoulder, exposing it gently. "Old Lady," a name embroidered on the fabric. A symbol, perhaps.

I sat at the vanity, determined to get ready. With a quick motion, I drew a line of eyeliner around my eyes, outlined my lips, then applied some beige lipstick. I finished with a simple but effective brown eyeshadow. I looked for the mascara, but as I picked it up, the jewelry box fell, sending an avalanche of metal to the floor. I shrugged. I'd pick it up later. Laziness overwhelmed me, a sweet, almost intoxicating sensation.

I played some music. It was my ritual: a bath, getting ready, then music. But today, there was something more. It wasn't just a routine. The song started playing, a soft and enchanting pop melody, that of Ari. Her voice carried me beyond the clouds. Needi. This song transported me. I couldn't help but stand up and dance. Usually, I wouldn't have taken the risk of tiring myself out like this, but today, it was different. Today, I felt... alive.

The music enveloped me, each vibrant note passing through me like an audacious caress, every beat of the song making a breath rise in my veins. I felt light, as if the air itself was carrying me. My feet barely touched the floor, the heat of the room mixing with the warmth of my skin, my movements becoming almost instinctive, a wild, free dance that escaped me. I was light, without pain. I was free. I spun around the room, laughing, smiling, not caring about anything. I was dancing for the first time in my life, without fear, without restraint.

The sudden crash of a sound made me jump. Bam! I had bumped into the Bubinga wood bookshelf. A sharp pain shot through my arm, pulling me back into reality. I cursed and bent down to check the floor. The cutter. There, just next to the books, lying on the floor. I had slipped on it.

I stood up grumbling, gathering the scattered books, but my anger didn't subside. I walked quickly toward the furniture, determined to tidy up. Every movement seemed louder, heavier. As I replaced a book, a strange crack echoed, like a fissure in the air. I stopped dead. Nothing. Just the echo of my own breath.

I left the cutter on the study table and exited the room. My heart was beating too fast. I had to leave. Get away from this room, from this agitation. I hurried down the stairs, my thoughts a mess.

The living room was like the house itself: raw, imposing. Brick and stone walls, ancient architecture marked by time and my grandfather's legacy. He had left me this house, and I was determined to spend my last days here. It was in these walls that I wanted to fade away, just like him.

Before reaching the last step, I connected my phone to the Bluetooth speaker. Silhouette started playing in the room, soft and poignant. A male duo, their voices engulfed me.

I collapsed onto the couch, my eyes falling on an abandoned book on the coffee table. And there, my heart skipped a beat.

Petter.

He was there, in front of the W house, back against the wall, near the trash can. He wore his eternal hoodie. That same man. The one who was supposed to approach me. The one who, according to Lauriane's plan, was meant to take it all, steal my fortune, seduce me to destroy me.

My eyes stayed fixed on him, unable to look away. My pulse quickened, an unknown heat flooded me. My feet carried me toward the bay window. I was like hypnotized.

I drew back the curtain. Our eyes met. For a fraction of a second. I stared at him through the window, each movement he made seemed measured, almost calculated. His gaze, when it met mine, was strange. Neither defiant nor submissive, just... something I couldn't grasp. He adjusted his hood, as if to signal that he knew he was seen, that he was here, that he was waiting for something. A shiver ran through me. But what? The tension struck me like lightning. He looked at me one last time, then lowered his head and adjusted his hood again before walking away.

I stayed there, frozen, my heart pounding. Then, without thinking, I pulled the curtain again. He was gone. Disappeared. I was empty. A wave of cold washed over me. Where had he gone?

The doorbell. A ring. Then another. My heart pounded painfully. The doorbell rang like thunder, and everything inside me tightened. I rushed to the door, my sweaty hands slipping on the handle. Each second felt like an eternity. What if it was him, Petter? He had watched me, he had seen me. This encounter was going to change everything. I closed my eyes, took one last breath, and opened the door. But when I lifted it, it wasn't him. It was... my father.

I hadn't heard the engine, hadn't seen him arrive. I hadn't thought of anything. Just of him.