Craved by the Wrong Volkov-Chapter 199: The man I must forget part 2

Braelyn’s POV

"You are crying." Lucien’s words felt like a slap on my face. My heart hammered in my chest.

I jolted up from the chair. My gaze snapped to Raphael, who looked equally stunned, like he was figuring out why I was crying. "I think we should leave," I stuttered, then rushed towards the door, running like I could escape myself.

The tears came faster than I could stop them, hot and stupid, sliding down my cheeks before I even reached the door. I hated myself for it. Hated that one stupid bowl of ginger soup could drag up memories I had buried deep enough to pretend they did not exist.

Hated my heart for still making excuses for the boy who used to care, for the man who had turned into this monster. Hated that I was crying at all, like some weak thing who could not handle the truth.

I did not hear Lucien move until his hand closed gently around my arm, stopping me right before I could disappear.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and careful. "Wait."

I froze, my back to him, trying to wipe my face with the sleeve of my dress like that would hide anything. My cheeks were wet, my eyes stinging, and I knew I looked like a mess. I did not want him to see it.

"I’m fine," I muttered. My voice was heavy. "Something got in my eye. Dust or... whatever."

He did not let go. Instead, he turned me slowly, his fingers light on my arms like he was afraid I would bolt if he held too tight. His eyes searched mine, worry etched deep between his brows.

"Braelyn," he said quietly. "You are crying." He said it as a matter of fact, like something I could not run from. My head was bowed. I did not want to meet his gaze. I wanted the tears to stop falling, but it was like I had no control over it.

Why was my heart betraying me? I did not want to remember the love he had stained. There was a thin line between love and hate, they say.

I shook my head fast, like that could make the tears stop, still rubbing my face to clean them. Lucien caught my hand, stopping me from creating a bigger mess.

"I’m not," I said. "I told you, it’s nothing."

He did not believe me. I could see it in the way his mouth tightened, the way his thumbs brushed the outside of my palm with slow, steady strokes.

"Talk to me," he said. "What happened?"

I opened my mouth to lie again, to brush it off, but the words stuck. My throat burned. I just wanted to leave. To run. To get away from the soup, from Raphael’s stare, from the memory of a boy who used to make me soup when I was sick and now pinned me against walls and kissed me like he owned me.

I pulled away, or tried to. "I need to go."

Lucien did not budge. His grip stayed gentle but firm. "Not like this."

From across the table, Raphael’s voice cut through, low and careful. He was already on his feet. His jaw was clenched as his eyes burned on Lucien’s hold on me.

"She should at least take something with her. The soup will make her hungry later."

I shot him a sharp look. Why was he suddenly caring again? The same man who did not bat an eye when I was scolded by Miso in his family house. He did not say a thing when Olivia talked down at me.

"I’m fine," I snapped at him, backing away from Lucien.

Raphael did not flinch. He just watched me with that same unreadable expression, like he could see straight through every wall I had tried to build.

"Please," he said, quieter this time. Almost soft. "Let the maids fix something quick before you leave. You can eat it later."

I wanted to snap at him. Wanted to tell him to go to hell. But my stomach twisted, empty and aching, and I was too tired to fight. There was a low grumble from my stomach. I think Lucien heard it. I was hungry, that was true.

I hesitated for a moment. Lucien’s hand tightened just a fraction on my arm, like he was giving me permission to decide. He knew I was hungry.

Finally, I nodded once. "Fine. I will be waiting by the car."

A soft look of relief spread across his face. He immediately instructed the maid to arrange it.

I turned away from both of them and walked towards the door. My arms were wrapped around myself like that could hold everything together. Lucien followed without a word, staying close but not crowding me, like he knew I needed space but did not trust me not to disappear.

I stopped just outside the dining room, leaning against the wall, waiting for whatever the maids were throwing together. My eyes burned. My chest still felt tight, and all I could think was how much I hated that a stupid bowl of soup could still make me cry over a man who did not deserve a single tear.

Lucien waited for a moment before speaking again. "What really happened there?" he asked carefully.

I glanced at him, then released a tired sigh. My legs felt rooted to the floor.

"Can you help me grab my bag?" I asked instead. "I do not want to go back there."

His mouth parted, then closed. In the end, he said nothing.

"Alright," he muttered. His gaze lingered on me before he walked back into the dining room.

I did not wait there any longer. Instead, I made my way outside.

The morning sun shone on me, and I finally released a breath I had been holding in. Lucien returned shortly after, carrying my bag and coat.

He gave me the coat but continued holding my bag. He was still curiously looking at me. Luckily, before he could pry, Raphael appeared holding the lunch box.

"Here," he said, handing it over.

I accepted it, then nodded at Lucien to leave. Raphael’s gaze hardened, but he did not say anything.

"Braelyn," he called my name reluctantly.

I glanced back at him. He had a weak smile on his face. "Maybe one of these days I should..."

I did not let him finish. "There is no need," I replied, stepping down the front steps. "I did not see Amelia at the table. You should check on her."

With that, I left him standing there. I did not even bother to see what look he had on his face.