The Messenger( Iva) novel Chapter 251

Tears-1

Lori’s hand hovered over the door handle.

She could see his shadow beneath the door-broad, imposing, unmistakably his. She could hear his breathing, shallow and strained. She could feel him through the bond, a storm of emotions crashing against the walls she had tried so hard to build.

*Open the door,* a voice whispered. Her own voice. Or maybe Layla’s. Or maybe something deeper.

She didn’t open the door.

“Lori.” His voice was low, urgent, pressed against the wood like a prayer. “Please. Open the door. We need to speak.”

Her hands trembled.

Her eyes were already swollen from crying, until there were no tears left, until her throat was raw and her chest ached with a pain she had never known existed.

The woman. The fiancée. The perfect, elegant, wealthy woman who belonged to his world while Lori was just a temporary assistant, a scholarship student, a nobody.

*He lied,* she thought. *He hid her from me. He let me believe…*

“Maybe it was a mistake,” Layla pushed, her voice pleading. “Mate is here. Mate is hurting too. Maybe-”

“He hid his fiancée from us,” Lori shot back, her mental voice sharp with pain. “He let me open my heart. He let me hope. And all along, there was someone else.”

Layla had no answer.

Attia spoke again.

“Lori. I know you’re there.” A pause. “Please. I’m begging you.”

Lori closed her eyes.

Her hand closed around the handle.

She opened the door.

Attia froze.

He had prepared himself for anger. For tears. For accusations and recriminations and the kind of pain that came from being rightfully blamed for his own stupidity.

He had not prepared himself for *this.*

The girl who stood before him was not the Lori he knew.

The Lori he knew had bright green eyes that sparkled when she laughed. Rosy cheeks that flushed when

1/3

< Tears 1

she was embarrassed. A smile that could light up a room and warmth that radiated from her like heat Trom a hearth.

The person in front of him was… devastated.

Claim

Her eyes were red-swollen from crying, the rims raw and inflamed. The light that usually danced in them was gone, extinguished like a candle snuffed out by wind. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. She held herself like she was bracing for impact-arms crossed over her chest, shoulders hunched, body angled as if ready to flee.

She looked broken.

And Attia had done this to her.

His chest constricted. His throat closed. He felt like someone had reached into his ribcage and ripped out his heart, leaving a gaping wound that would never heal.

*Lori.*

He stepped inside her room.

She stepped back.

The movement was small-just a single step-but it felt like a mile. Like a chasm opening between them. Like a door slamming shut.

Attia closed the door behind him.

The sound echoed in the small room.

They stood facing each other-the massive headmaster and the tiny medical student, the broken soldier and the shattered girl. Neither spoke. Neither moved.

Lori crossed her arms tighter over her chest, hugging herself as if she was the only one who could hold her together,

“How can I help you,… Headmaster?” she asked.

Her voice was cold.

Polite.

Professional.

It cut him deeper than any blade.

“Don’t,” he said, and his voice came out rough, almost desperate. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend.”

“Pretend what?”

“Pretend that we’re strangers. That the last few days meant nothing. That I’m just your employer and you’re just my assistant.”

Lori’s jaw tightened.

23

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify