Chapter Nineteen - Fault Lines
The cellar was colder than the night before.
Asa sat on the steps just above the stone floor, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair. The darkness pressed in, familiar now. His breath came slow but shaky, as though he were holding in something much louder than air.
He had not slept. Not really.
In the silence, the voice slithered back.
"You kept defending her. When they stared at her like that. When they said this or that to her, you just kept doing it .
I have a question, is she your enemy, the one you trained so hard to end or is she the girl you trained to be the perfect husband for? Are you actually going to end up losing the battle on the last person left to destroy?
You know, I thought you married her to destroy her, but now you make me think otherwise."
Asa didn't move.
"You're soft. That's the problem. You could have ended this long ago. But you're letting her root herself inside you. She's wrapping herself around the bones of who you used to be."
A long pause. Asa clenched his jaw.
"And now there's a child?!!, come on Asa you disappoint me, how could you have let this happen, how can you let yourself go like that, I thought, I taught you better than that. A second chance for her to kill the man you were meant to become."
Asa stood abruptly, shoulders rigid, eyes flashing toward the dark corner of the cellar where a person stood, And yet, they seemed to blend perfectly well with the dark, making their presence linger like a suffocating smoke.
---
Upstairs, breakfast was a quieter affair than expected. The long table stretched under the weight of silver trays and polished fruit bowls. Genevieve poked at her croissant with visible disinterest. Jules adjusted the settings on his camera, snapping idle footage of the table, while Amara practiced scales silently with her fingers.
Nuria felt eyes on her. All of them. Even the ones that pretended not to look.
She pressed her palm to her stomach and tried to breathe.
"You alright, dear?" asked Aunt Colette, eyeing her from across the table.
Nuria nodded and offered a small smile. "Just a bit warm."
Celeste smirked into her orange juice.
Milo stood two chairs away, watching silently.
Asa had yet to appear.
---
The hallway outside the dining room smelled of polished wood and rosewater. Nuria stepped away from the table quietly, murmuring something about needing air. She barely made it to the guest bathroom before nausea clawed up her throat.
She knelt at the sink, the porcelain cool beneath her fingertips.
Behind the door, distant voices.
"She's been vomiting for days," came Genevieve's hushed tone. " She's not bulimic, is she? ."
"As I said, maybe she's pregnant, but well, if she is bulimic I wouldn't be surprised by it, just look at the girl," Celeste whispered.
Laughter. Uneasy. Too sharp.
"Has Asa said anything?" Jules this time.
"No," said Celeste. "But when has he ever?"
---
Asa entered just as Nuria returned to the table. He looked like he'd come from outside-shirt slightly wrinkled, sleeves rolled halfway, hair tousled.
No one spoke.
He took his seat beside Nuria and reached for the coffee carafe.
Jules cleared his throat.
"Hey, uh... Asa? Just a question. No offense, yeah? But, uh... is it true? About Nuria?"
Asa froze.
Jules held up both hands. "You don't have to answer. Just... it's all over the table, man."
Asa placed the carafe down. Carefully.
"If it were your business," he said, "you'd already know."
Silence. A few forks clinked against plates.
"But since it isn't," he added, looking up slowly, "ask again and I'll snap your camera in half."
Jules turned red and muttered something into his eggs.
Vivienne reached for her wine. Dorian, seated across from Asa, didn't move. But his eyes lingered on his son. Long. Calculating.
---
Later, in the east corridor near the library, Asa stood before a tall window, arms crossed. He watched the wind ripple through the hedges outside, the silver fountain throwing sunlight in shards.
The footsteps behind him were silent. But he felt them.
"You're slipping," a voice said. Calm. Coaxing.
Asa didn't turn.
"You were raised for more than this. You knew what she was. What she did. You saw it. And now?"
"I remember what I saw," Asa murmured.
"Then remember what it meant. You hesitated, Asa. You're hesitating again. And it's costing you the man you were meant to be."
The presence came closer. Asa's hands tightened around his arms.
"There is still time. But not forever. Soon, her lies will fester. And when they do, you must choose. Her... or blood."
A pause.
"Your real family. The one you lost. The one that burns behind your eyelids every time you close them."
Asa shut his eyes. A flicker of memory-flames, screams, red on white tile.
His throat tightened.
The voice was a breath against his ear.
"She ends you, or you end her."
Asa turned and stared head on into the person's eyes, with an unnerving fire burning behind his eyes.
---
That night, Nuria found him on the balcony. He didn't hear her come.
She touched his arm. He flinched.
"Sorry," she whispered.
He nodded but didn't look at her.
"I... Asa, are we okay?"
His shoulders rose and fell.
"You haven't been yourself," she tried. "You don't speak. You don't sleep. You look at me like you don't know who I am anymore."
He closed his eyes.
"Do you still love me?"
A breath. Then:
"Love isn't always enough."
Her heart broke a little at that. She stepped back. "Then tell me what is."
He turned to her now, finally.
And for a second, the look in his eyes scared her.
Not because he looked angry.
But because he looked lost.
"I wish I knew," he said.
She stared at him, tears forming but refusing to fall.
And walked away.
He didn't stop her.
Behind him, the darkness inside the house shifted. Whispered.
And waited.
End of chapter.
Bulimia--an eating disorder in which a person has regular episodes of eating a very large amount of food (bingeing) during which the person feels a loss of control over their eating.The person then uses different ways, such as vomiting or laxatives (purging), to prevent weight gain.