Chapter Eight — Echoes and Embers
The masquerade haunted Evelyn long after the last note of the orchestra faded into oblivion.
She sat before the mirror in her dimly lit room, hair unpinned, cascading in waves over bare shoulders. Her crimson gown lay discarded across the velvet chaise, a glimmering ghost of temptation and guilt. Its silk shimmered like blood in moonlight, whispering secrets she wasn't ready to face. She stared at her reflection, at the mask-shaped shadows still lingering around her eyes—where Dorian had once looked at her like she was both the dagger and the wound.
Her fingers trembled slightly as they traced her collarbone—where his breath had lingered. She could still feel it. The way he touched her waist—firm, reverent, like she was something he could sculpt forgiveness from. Or perhaps reshape into regret.
She should've walked away.
But now… she couldn't.
The mask had come off. But the truth still wore one.
---
That Morning — Evelyn's Apartment
Sunlight streamed in like an accusation.
The room was silent except for the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock. Evelyn hadn't slept. Her eyes were rimmed with fatigue, but the restlessness in her chest refused to be quieted.
Then—Adrian's voice sliced through the quiet like shattered crystal.
"Where were you last night?"
She turned slowly to face him. He stood at the threshold of her bedroom, backlit by pale light, arms folded across his chest. His jaw was clenched, but his eyes—his eyes were full of something far worse than anger.
Fear.
"Out," she replied, too quickly.
Adrian's eyes flicked to the crimson dress. "Wearing that?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "You went to him, didn't you?"
She stiffened. "You had no right—"
"I had to," he snapped. "You think I haven't seen the way you look when his name comes up? The way your hands tremble, the way your voice turns to ash?" He stepped closer, lowering his voice like it hurt to say it. "You've been distant ever since he came back. You're slipping through my fingers."
Evelyn's eyes filled with unspoken truths. She didn't deny it. Couldn't. Dorian's name burned like a forgotten prayer on her lips, too sacred and too shameful to say aloud.
Adrian ran a hand through his hair, a rare show of vulnerability. "He's not the boy you loved. He's become a mirror of the pain you left him with. You were part of what destroyed him, Evelyn. And now you're walking straight into the ruins."
Her voice cracked. "When he looks at me… it's like I matter again. He sees something in me I thought I lost."
Adrian's face hardened. "He'll ruin you. And he won't stop until you become just like him—haunted, hollow."
But instead of retreating in guilt… she felt something else rise.
Not fear.
Fire.
She stared him down, voice steady. "Then let me burn."
---
That Night — The Ruins of St. Lorien Chapel
The letter had arrived folded in half, inked in slanted strokes she knew too well. There was no signature. There didn't need to be.
Come to where you once betrayed me. Let's see if ghosts still bleed.
She hadn't stepped foot inside St. Lorien Chapel in years—not since the night it all ended. Not since the betrayal. But now, guided by guilt and something darker—desire, maybe—she found herself standing beneath its crumbling archway, breath fogging in the cold air.
The chapel loomed like a cathedral of regret. Ivy curled around its stone bones like veins over broken skin. The stained glass was shattered, the floor littered with fallen angels in marble fragments. This place reeked of memory.
She stepped inside.
The scent hit her first—burnt incense, damp stone, and wilted roses. Candles lined the center aisle like mourners at a funeral procession. Their flames danced erratically, like they recognized her guilt.
And there he was.
Dorian stood at the altar where the cross once hung, back straight, eyes unreadable. The shadows clung to him like velvet, and the candlelight made his face look carved from sorrow and steel.
"You came," he said softly, voice echoing through the hollow space.
Evelyn swallowed. "You brought me here for a reason."
His expression didn't shift. "Because this is where the story began. Where it ended. And where it needs to begin again… in blood or forgiveness."
He stepped down from the altar.
"You still wear the perfume I loved," he murmured, halting just inches from her.
Her lip trembled. "I never stopped."
He reached out, his fingers trailing down her neck, feather-light but full of intent. "You want to be forgiven. You want to feel loved again. But you don't know whether I'll give you either... or take everything you have left."
Her breath shuddered. "Do you still love me?"
He cupped her face with such gentleness it broke her heart. For a moment, she saw the boy he used to be.
But then he spoke.
"Love is not the word for what you've done to me."
And he kissed her.
It was a kiss laced with ash and longing, with fury disguised as softness. Her heart fractured with every second his lips lingered on hers.
When he pulled back, the distance in his eyes returned.
"You're already mine again," he whispered. "And you don't even realize it."
Then, like smoke, he was gone.
Evelyn stumbled backward, collapsing onto a broken pew, breath coming in gasps. The chapel was silent once more, but it rang with memory.
She had crossed a line.
She couldn't go back now. Not to Adrian. Not to who she used to be.
The trap had finally begun to close.
And worst of all—part of her wanted it to.