I Loved Him in Silence

Max hadn't slept.

Not even for a second.

The taste of her was still on his lips. The way she had looked at him—wide-eyed, trembling, but full of that long-buried love—it haunted him in the most beautiful way.

He should've felt peace. He had kissed her, touched her, heard the words he had dreamt of for years.

But all he felt was rage.

Elior.

That bastard had touched her. Had dared to get close, to act like she was his.

And now Max's mother—his own mother—was playing a game far more dangerous than she realized.

He stepped into the drawing room of his family's estate the next morning, jaw clenched, storm in his veins.

"Maximilian, you're early," his mother greeted coolly, sipping from her porcelain cup.

He didn't return the pleasantry.

"Why was Elior at our family gathering?"

Her hand paused mid-sip.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." His voice was low, sharp. "Why was he there? With Lydia? In front of everyone?"

His mother placed her cup down with calculated grace. "Because he is a respectable boy. And I thought maybe—"

"He tried to kiss her."

Silence.

The temperature in the room dropped instantly.

"What?"

"He forced himself on her." His hands balled into fists. "She slapped him. And he still kept coming close."

His mother's face faltered—just for a moment. "I—I didn't know that."

"Because you never asked her. You brought in someone else when you knew exactly how I felt about her."

"You're cousins, Max," she snapped. "It's not proper—"

"We're not blood," he cut her off. "And proper be damned, I love her."

Her lips parted in shock.

Max's voice softened just enough to be dangerous.

"You don't get to control this part of my life anymore, Mother. Not when it's about her."

He turned and left before she could say another word.

Lydia's house

She hadn't seen Max all day.

Not a message. Not a call.

Just silence again.

But this time… it wasn't the kind that hurt.

It was the kind that meant something was coming.

Her heart hadn't stopped racing since last night. She had kissed him—kissed Max—and he had kissed her back with a hunger that felt like a promise.

And when she said I've loved you, he didn't even hesitate to say it back.

Still, her stomach twisted with nerves.

She stepped outside into the garden behind her house, hoping the fresh air would slow the chaos in her chest. But instead, she found someone waiting.

"Lydia."

Elior.

She tensed instantly. "What do you want?"

He stepped closer, eyes unusually soft. "Just to talk. Please. I didn't mean to—last time, I thought you felt something too."

"You thought wrong."

He swallowed. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"But you did."

She tried to turn away, but his hand caught her wrist.

"Let me explain—"

"Don't touch me."

The voice that came from her was sharp, steady, cold.

He dropped her wrist immediately.

And just then—a voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"Is there a problem here?"

Max.

Lydia's heart stopped.

He was standing just beyond the gate, arms crossed, eyes burning. One look at Elior, and there was no mistaking it—

Max was done playing nice.

Elior stepped back, sensing danger, and mumbled something incoherent before walking away.

Lydia was still frozen when Max walked up to her.

"You okay?"

She nodded slowly.

"Max…" she whispered.

He moved closer.

"I told her. My mom. About Elior. About us."

Her eyes widened.

"What did she say?"

"That it's not proper. That you and I shouldn't be together. And you know what I told her?" His fingers brushed against her cheek. "I told her I'm not choosing proper. I'm choosing you."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"Max…"

"I want to be with you. And this time… I'm not letting go."

She reached for him, her voice breaking—

"Neither am I."