Chapter 12

Feelings? To him, that word just felt too heavy, too complicated. Curtis's mind was flooded with flashes of the past-ones he couldn't stop. Delia's sharp voice echoed in his ears, her eyes filled with disdain as she called him a cripple. He remembered the birthday gift he'd thoughtfully picked out for her, lying shattered on the floor. Her wild threats of suicide, screaming at him to sign the divorce papers... Did he love her? Of course he did. That love might've snuck in quietly, but it had already rooted itself deep in his bones. Even when she tore him apart, day after day, he stayed. Like some stubborn fool. Backing down, forgiving her again and again. Even when he was left bruised inside and out, part of him still clung to a small, pathetic hope-hope that maybe, just maybe, she'd turn around one day and really see him. But he was close to giving up on that hope for good. Then, just like that, she changed. She started getting close to him, clumsily helping him, cooking meals, holding him as she cried. She looked at him with eyes that sparkled, called him "babe," told him she loved him like she really meant it. It felt unreal, like something out of a dream too pretty to be true. He was confused, unsettled. His gut told him it might be a trap wrapped in sweetness. But still, he couldn't stop that quiet joy fluttering in his chest. It scared him. It felt like being lost in a desert for ages-then suddenly, a mirage appeared. You know it's not real, but you still move toward it. So what was he supposed to do? Tell her, "Yes, I still love you. So much that it terrifies me"? Or say, "I don't buy any of this sudden change, and I don't know if I ever will"? Curtis slowly lifted his eyes and met Delia's gaze. The way she looked at him-so full of hope, so intense-it felt like she could see right through him, every messy thought, every hidden fear. His throat tightened. He bailed. Curtis lowered his gaze and said with a calm, unreadable tone, "Your breakfast's getting cold. Just eat." The light in Delia's eyes dimmed a little. Still, she didn't give up. She leaned closer, pressing, "Talking doesn't make food any colder. Just tell me how you really see me now. I mean, you've got to admit, I've changed for the better, right?" Curtis didn't answer right away. Under the table, his hand curled into a loose fist. Of course she was better-everything he'd ever craved. But he worried that saying it out loud might shatter the fragile dream they were living in. Maybe now just wasn't the time. So, in the end, he only shook his head, keeping silent. Seeing his closed-off expression, Delia bit back her disappointment. She sighed and let it go, saying softly, "Fine. You don't have to tell me." "But just so you know-I'll get it out of you eventually." She shot him a cheeky grin, making Curtis freeze a little. His ears turned red, and his gaze dropped to the plate in front of him. Delia didn't notice. She picked up her fork and quietly kept eating. She'd hurt him too deeply before. Now, he was too scared to trust again. But she had all the time in the world to show him-prove to him it was real this time. After all, she owed him that much. Breakfast ended in a strange sort of silence. Curtis wiped his mouth with a napkin and turned his wheelchair, ready to head out. "I'm going to work," he blurted, almost on instinct. Just like any husband would say to his wife before leaving. "Okay," Delia replied with a soft smile. "Drive safe." She got up and walked him to the door, watching as he left with Noah. Only when the car vanished into the distance did she slowly pull her gaze back. Time to get to real business. Delia turned and headed upstairs, returning to the bedroom. She sat down, letting the memories from her last life at the Fleming family rush back. Her parents died early. As the eldest daughter, she should've inherited most of the estate. But those so-called relatives? They smiled to her face but were dying to skin her alive and snatch everything she had. The bitterness in her chest flared up fast. Breathe... Calm down, Delia. She needed a solid plan. No rushing this. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to clear her mind. Her phone buzzed on the table, screen lighting up with a new message. Sender: Edward Fleming. Her stomach twisted. Bad feeling incoming. She tapped the screen. The message popped up: [Delia, have you thought about the equity transfer we talked about? I'm only suggesting this for your own good. A girl managing a company is tough. Why not hand over that chunk of shares to me? I can take care of it for you. You could use the free time to be with Curtis, strengthen your marriage. Let me know when it works for you. Just sign when you're ready.] Her fingers clenched around the phone so tightly, her knuckles went pale. This was it. The same trick all over again. Last life, Edward used this fake concern to coax and pressure her-plus some added whispers from Isabelle and Nathan. Dumb and foggy-headed, she signed away her power. Curtis had tried to warn her, and she'd brushed it off. And once she was no longer useful, Edward didn't even hesitate-cut her off cold. Blood ties? Meant nothing to him when money was involved. If he had no shame, why should she play nice? Her chest burned with fury that nearly drowned out reason. She stared at the screen, lips slowly curving into a cold smile. Dear Uncle Edward... Not this time. Let's see how it feels to get trapped in your own web. ***** Night fell, city lights flickered alive. Curtis wrapped up his workday and returned to the villa. Noah opened the car door and helped him settle into the wheelchair with practiced ease. He was already ready for this. Today, almost without thinking, he'd turned down a not-so-urgent dinner and left work right on time. Not that he could explain why... Was it Delia he was waiting for? The thought lingered as he stared out the window. But as the villa door slowly opened, something completely different hit him. The smell of food hung warm and inviting in the air. He could hear soft sounds coming from the kitchen. He froze on the spot, a little dazed. Home. That word used to just mean walls and silence. Or worse, the look of disgust Delia used to give him every time she had to see him here. She never wanted to stay-even a second longer. And he got used to hiding at the office till late night. But things were different now. She was home. And the light was on. The scent of food drifting out-it felt real. And comforting. While he stood there lost in his thoughts, Delia came out of the kitchen with a plate of ribs, the glaze golden and mouthwatering. She spotted him right away, a bright smile lighting up her face. "You're back!" she called out, voice full of warmth.