Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 202

Chapter 202: Chapter 202

Kaelen’s POV

I stood outside her locked door for a few minutes.

The hallway was empty. Quiet. Just me and the takeout bag in my hand and the faint howling of the winter wind outside. The container was still warm against my palm—mushroom risotto from the place on Thornberry Street. The one she used to love.

Used to.

Years were a long time. People changed. Tastes changed. Everything changed.

I stared at the polished wood. My keycard sat heavy in my jacket pocket. Behind this door, she was either asleep or pretending to be. Both options carved something raw inside my chest.

I swiped the card.

The heavy lock clicked. I pushed the door open.

The suite was dim. Curtains drawn. The only light came from the bathroom—a thin golden strip beneath the closed door. No. Wait. The bathroom was dark too. The light was from the hallway behind me, spilling in like an intrusion.

She was on the bed. Curled on her side, spine to me, knees drawn up. The blanket pulled tight around her shoulders like armor. Her silver-white hair fanned across the pillow—tangled, unwashed.

She didn’t move.

"Ela."

Nothing. Not a flinch. Not a twitch. As if I hadn’t spoken at all.

I set the bag on the table near the window. Pulled out the container. Lifted the lid so the smell would fill the room—garlic, herbs, melted parmesan.

"I brought dinner. Mushroom risotto."

Silence.

I stood there. Hands at my sides. The scent of the food mixing with the stale air of a room that hadn’t been properly opened in days. She hadn’t touched the lunch I’d left either. The sandwich sat on the desk, untouched, its edges curling.

"You need to eat."

Her voice came flat. Dead. Like something scraped across stone.

"Unlock the door."

My throat tightened. "Ela—"

"You say you care. You bring food. You hover." A pause. Then, quieter: "But the door stays locked. So this is a prison. And you are the warden. Stop pretending otherwise."

The words landed like blows. Precise. Calculated to wound.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. What could I say? That I couldn’t let her go because the thought of her disappearing again made something inside me crack open and howl? That if I unlocked that door she would vanish before dawn and I’d spend years tearing the world apart looking for her?

"I can’t," I said. "You know I can’t."

She said nothing more.

I stood there for another minute. Then I left.

---

The days blurred together.

Days later, I brought fresh croissants and a cinnamon roll from the bakery near the square. The kind with extra icing. The kind she used to steal off my plate when she thought I wasn’t looking.

I set them on the bedside table while she was in the bathroom. The shower ran for a long while. Steam curled under the door. I waited in the armchair by the window, staring at the grey sky beyond the curtains.

When she emerged, wrapped in the guest robe, her eyes passed over me like I was furniture.

"I don’t like being watched," she said.

I left.

The following day, the same. Croissants. Silence. Her back turned to me whenever I entered.

The day after that, I found the croissants in the trash. Untouched.

At night, I slept on the sofa. Or tried to. The leather was too short for my frame, my legs hanging off the edge, my neck kinked at an uncomfortable angle. But I couldn’t leave. Couldn’t bring myself to go back to the estate and sleep in a proper bed while she was here.

So I lay in the dark and listened.

Some nights she cried.

Quiet, suppressed sounds. The kind that came from pressing your face into a pillow so no one would hear. But I heard. Every muffled sob landed in my chest like a blade twisting.

Other nights she whispered. Prayers, maybe. Or just words spoken into the void. I couldn’t make them out. Didn’t try. Because if I moved, if I went to her, if I touched her—

I wouldn’t stop.

I knew that about myself now. Knew the thing inside me that strained against its leash every time I smelled her. The beast that wanted to gather her up and press her against me and make her remember what we were. What we’d been.

So I stayed on the sofa. And I hated myself.

---

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