Eliza shook her head, her eyes a whirl of disbelief and sympathy. How did it come to this? What kind of pain had he endured to end up in such a state? She noticed a shift in her gaze, something deeper than simple disgust—a mix of empathy and confusion about his struggles.
Casper gave a wry smile, as if he'd seen this coming from a mile away. "Go back, Eliza. Don't come here again." He refastened his shirt, trying to keep up a calm front, though his fingers trembled against each button. Imagining it was one thing; facing it head-on was another beast entirely. Confronting old wounds made the pain sharper, more real. Pretending to be calm and pushing down his own hurt was all he could manage.
"Casper," Eliza said, her voice catching with emotion, "Did you deceive me because you were hurting?" Casper stayed silent, as if his throat was bound tight. How could he possibly explain?
In the quiet, Eliza stepped back to him, her gaze searching his eyes. She wasn’t impressed with his self-sacrificing act. "You lied about being dead, snuck into the award ceremony, got my phone back, threw a party for me, and followed me everywhere—even to the hospital for the birth. Casper, if you were letting go, why do all of that?"
"Am I to understand you told everyone else you're alive—everyone but me?"
Her heart was breaking. He'd deceived her and her alone. Why? He knew she was carrying his child; how could he leave her to face it alone? Raising her hand, Eliza slapped him hard. That slap held all her anger at his deceit, her own hurt, and was a reprimand for his misguided choice. The slap knocked his silver mask askew.
He said nothing, just adjusted his mask. If she wanted to hit him, fine. No complaints, no resentment.
"Casper, what are you so afraid of? Tell me." Eliza reached to remove his mask, but he quickly stopped her hand. "Don't."
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