Fated To Not Just One But Three novel Chapter 589

Chapter 589: Drunk

Lennox’s POV

When she told me to stop, I froze.

Not because I wanted to, but because my body obeyed before my mind could catch up.

I turned slowly, my hand still on the door. The corridor light spilled into the room behind me, casting her in shadow and gold. She stood there rigid, chin lifted, eyes suddenly filled with pain.

"Come back," she said.

Not an order.

Not a command.

A request.

That was worse.

I stepped back inside and closed the door quietly behind me.

She didn’t speak right away. She walked past me instead, moving toward the small table by the window where a half-finished bottle of amber liquor sat untouched. She poured two glasses with an unsteady hand and pushed one toward me without looking.

"Drink," she said.

I should have refused.

I knew that.

Every instinct screamed that this was a line I couldn’t afford to cross.

But I took the glass. I missed her... missed being this close to her.

The liquor burned going down. She drank hers faster. Too fast.

She leaned back against the table, staring at the floor like it might give her answers.

"I failed him," she said suddenly.

The words hit like a blade.

My chest locked.

"Lennox," she went on, her voice rough. "I failed him."

I didn’t speak.

I couldn’t.

"He died thinking I stopped loving him," she said, laughing bitterly. "Isn’t that cruel? Of all the things he survived... that’s what he died believing."

She swallowed and drank again.

"We fought so much near the end," she continued. "Misunderstandings. Pride. Silence. And I kept telling myself I’d fix it later. When things were calmer. When there was time."

Her voice broke.

"There was no later."

I set my glass down before it shattered in my grip.

She turned to face me then, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. Drunk—not falling-down drunk, but loosened. Unguarded.

Again, she filled her cup and drank it all in one go.

"I loved him," she said fiercely. "I still love him. It was always him."

Every word was a wound to my already shattered heart.

"I wish he were here," she whispered. "Just for a moment. Just so I could tell him."

I’m here, I whispered only to myself.

She laughed again, but this time she was drunk. I knew Olivia’s alcohol tolerance was low—just a sip and she was gone. That was why, when we were younger, we never let her take even a sip. We made sure no one in the pack offered her that.

Olivia scoffed drunkenly. "God, listen to me. Talking to a guard like he’s—"

She stopped.

Her gaze sharpened.

Focused.

"Why do you feel like him?" she asked quietly.

My breath caught.

"I don’t," I said carefully.

She stepped closer.

"You do," she insisted. "Your voice. The way you stand. The way you look at me like you already know what I’m going to say."

She shook her head. "I know it’s stupid. I saw his body. I touched him. I watched him decay."

Each word gutted me.

"So why," she whispered, "does it feel like he’s standing right in front of me?"

My heart hammered violently.

"Why do you think I’m Lennox?" I asked, forcing my composure to remain intact.

She reached up suddenly, cupping my face with both hands.

I froze.

Her palms were warm. Familiar. A touch I missed so much.

"Because you feel like him," she said softly. "Because when you hold me, my wolf goes quiet. Because your heartbeat matches the one I memorized."

Her thumbs brushed my cheekbones.

"I would have thought you changed your face," she murmured, almost laughing, "but that’s impossible. Why would you do that? Why would you come back as a common guard?"

Her voice cracked.

"You died," she said firmly. "I saw you die."

I couldn’t breathe.

She leaned closer, her forehead resting against mine.

"I miss you," she whispered.

That was it.

The last thread snapped.

I lifted my hands and held her wrists gently, grounding her—and myself.

"Olivia," I said hoarsely. "You’re drunk."

She laughed weakly. "And grieving. Don’t ruin the moment."

Her lips brushed mine accidentally.

Or fate.

I should have pulled away.

But I didn’t.

She kissed me again, this time deliberate—soft at first, testing, like she was afraid I’d disappear. When I didn’t, her fingers slid into my hair and she kissed me harder, desperately, like she was trying to pour years of loss into a single breath.

I kissed her back.

Moon, forgive me—I kissed her back.

Not rushed. Not hungry.

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