Chosen By The Cursed Alpha King (Emilia) novel Chapter 258

< 113 Burning The Past

Clam

113. Burning The Past

ADELE’S POV

The silence in the cellar was deafening after Harrison’s body went still. The air felt thicker now,

heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the musty dampness that clung to everything.

I stood there, chest heaving like I’d run a marathon. The adrenaline crashed through me-hot,

shaky-making my legs feel like jelly. Lucien’s arms were around me, tight and protective, his

breath warm against my hair. I could feel his heart slamming against my back, matching the

frantic beat of mine.

“Are you okay?” I whispered, twisting in his hold to look up at him. My voice came out rough,

scraped raw from the screams.

He nodded-quick, automatic-but I saw it. That shadow in his eyes, dark and haunted, like he

wasn’t fully here. Like the cellar had dragged him back to some place inside himself where the pain

never really healed. His face was pale, jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticked. Those brown eyes

-usually so warm when they looked at me-were distant, staring at the body on the floor like it

might get up again.

Everything about this place screamed nightmare. Tension hung in the air-thick, almost tangible-

making every breath feel labored. I could see it eating at him, the memories flooding back

uninvited.

I cupped his face with my hand, thumbs brushing his cheeks, trying to pull him back to me.

”

”

Everything’s fine now,” I said softly, even though my own voice shook. “He’s gone. For real this time.

Lucien’s eyes met mine, and for a second, the shadow deepened. “I don’t deserve you,” he

murmured, voice rough, like the words hurt coming out.

My heart twisted. I shook my head, fingers tightening on his jaw. “Don’t say that. You deserve

everything good. Everything.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment, leaning into my touch. When he opened them again, the pain was raw, exposed. “I really can’t understand why he hated me so much,” he said quietly,

almost like he was talking to himself. “He could have been a good father. But he chose not to.

Instead, he wanted me to suffer-for something that wasn’t my fault.”

The words hung there, heavy with years of unspoken hurt. I wrapped my arms around him tighter, pulling him close, my cheek against his chest. His heart thumped steady under my ear, but I could feel the tremor in his body-the way he was holding it all in, barely.

I wanted to absorb it, take it from him, remind him that I was here. That I’d always be here.”

Harrison was a monster,” I whispered into his shirt. For making you suffer. For ruining your

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113 Burning The Past

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childhood. But it’s all in the past now. You have me. You have Andrea. We’re all going to start fresh.

He nodded slowly, arms tightening around me like was his anchor. The cellar felt smaller, the shadows longer, but in that moment, with him holding me, it didn’t matter. We stood there, wrapped in each other, the tension easing just a fraction as his breathing slowed. I could feel the shift-the way he was trying to let it go, to believe in the fresh start I promised.

Finally, he pulled back, eyes scanning the room like he was seeing it for the first time. The cellar- the chains on the wall, the dark corners where he’d probably huddled as a kid-seemed to weigh on him heavier now. “I want to burn this place,” he said, voice low but firm. “I should have done it a long time ago.”

I nodded, squeezing his hand. “Do whatever you want. Whatever helps.”

He took my hand, lacing our fingers together. His palm was warm, calloused from years of fighting,

but gentle. We looked down at Harrison’s body one last time-still, lifeless, eyes staring blankly at

the ceiling. No more threats. No more hate. Just a shell.

Lucien turned away first, leading me out of the cellar. The stairs creaked under our weight, each

step taking us farther from that hellhole. The house above was small, rundown-peeling paint on

the walls, dust coating everything. It looked like it could have been a home once, cozy even, but it

wasn’t. It was a place of torture. Of pain.

Lucien paused in the kitchen, eyes distant. “I remember coming in here as a kid,” he said quietly,

voice thick with memory. “Looking for something-anything-to eat. And he’d catch me. Beat the

s**t out of me. Lock me up. It was terrible. Every f*****g day.”

My throat tightened. I couldn’t imagine it-the little boy he’d been, hungry, scared, just wanting a scrap of kindness. How could anyone treat their own child like that? I squeezed his hand harder, pulling him closer. “He’s gone now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Lucien nodded, but the shadow lingered. He opened a drawer, rummaging until he found an old matchbox-faded, dusty, but the matches inside looked usable. Then he grabbed a container from under the sink-kerosene, by the smell of it. His movements were deliberate, mechanical, like he

was on autopilot.

He looked at me. “Come on. We have to make sure he’s not playing dead this time.”

We went back down-reluctant, the stairs creaking louder now. The cellar air hit me again, cold and clammy, raising goosebumps on my arms. Harrison’s body lay where we’d left it, blood pooling wider now, dark and sticky. Lucien poured the kerosene over him-slow, methodical, the liquid glugging out in thick streams. The smell was sharp chemical, mixing with the coppery tang of

blood.

No remorse on his face. None.

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113 Burning The Past

He struck a match-the scratch loud in the silence and tossed it.

Clairy

The body ignited-flames whooshing up, hungry and bright. Heat blasted my face, the crackle filling the small space. Lucien stood there, watching, face illuminated by the orange glow. His eyes

reflected the fire-fierce, unyielding.

I tugged his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

We climbed the stairs one last time, the heat licking at our backs. Up in the house, Lucien poured the rest of the kerosene-splashing it across the floors, the walls, the furniture. The fumes made my eyes water, but I didn’t stop him. Didn’t say a word. This was his closure. His way of burning the

past.

We stepped outside-the cool air a shock after the growing heat. Lucien paused at the door, matchbox in hand. He stared at it for a long moment, like it held all the answers. “I could have had a happy childhood here,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t.”

Then he struck the match-bright flame flickering and tossed it inside.

The house caught fast-flames licking up the curtains, spreading across the floor. We backed away, watching as smoke billowed out the windows, the crackle turning to a roar.

Lucien turned to me, a small smile breaking through the shadows on his face. He opened his palm,

offering his hand.

I took it, lacing our fingers together. Warm. Solid.

We walked away-hand in hand-as the house burned behind us, the past turning to ash.

After a few minutes of quiet walking, I glanced up at him, trying to lighten the weight still hanging over us. “So… you didn’t want to be born? You didn’t want to meet me?”

He blinked, caught off guard. Then he laughed-real, deep, the sound warming me from the inside out. “It’s not like that. I was just trying to make a point.”

I raised an eyebrow, teasing. “A point that you clearly didn’t want to be mated to me? Because why wouldn’t you want to be born?”

He scrambled-eyes wide, words tumbling out. “No wait-that’s not what I meant! I was just saying, in the moment, to him-”

I couldn’t hold it in. I burst out laughing-hard, breathless, the kind that made my sides ache. The tension from the cellar, the fire, the fear-it all cracked, spilling out in waves of relief.

Lucien stopped, staring at me like I’d lost it, then his smile widened, and he joined in-laughing until we were both leaning on each other, gasping for air

He would heal.

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113 Burning The Past

I knew his pain was deep-scars that ran bone-deep from years of hate and hurt. But he would heal. And I’d help him. Every step of the way.

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