The morning after was a masterpiece of deception. Kaelen woke to the soft, gentle light of dawn, but the peace she had felt just the day before was a distant, mocking memory. The first conscious thought that solidified in her mind was not of warmth, or of Sera, or of the soft sheets against her skin. It was a number, a brand on the inside of her eyelids, a silent, screaming ghost that had haunted her sleep.
80%
The number was an invisible wall that had slammed down between her and the world. It was a pane of thick, soundproof glass separating her from the life she had just begun to touch. She lay perfectly still, her eyes closed, her breathing a shallow, controlled rhythm, pretending to be asleep. She heard Sera stir in the armchair beside the bed, a soft sigh followed by the quiet rustle of a blanket being folded. The warmth, the steady presence that had been a profound comfort just two nights ago, now felt like a threat. Every moment of peace, every touch, every kind word from Sera felt like a stolen good, a pleasure she was indulging in on borrowed time. She was a fraud, an impostor, accepting a love and a tenderness she was on an eighty percent-complete journey to betraying.
The day became an act. The most difficult, grueling performance of her life. When Sera whispered a gentle "Good morning," Kaelen had to force her lips into a smile that felt like a grimace, a rictus of terror she hoped looked like morning grogginess. When Sera helped her with her morning routine, the gentle intimacy that had felt so healing now felt like a profound deception. Every touch was a reminder of the body Sera thought she was caring for, versus the monster Kaelen feared was being reassembled, piece by agonizing piece, within her. She was a ticking time bomb, and Sera was unknowingly, lovingly, winding the clock.
They ate breakfast in the sun-drenched kitchen, a scene of such quiet, domestic peace that it was a form of exquisite torture. Iris, a whirlwind of bright pink and joyous energy, chattered excitedly about the rainbow volcano she had presented to her class.
"Everyone loved it, Auntie Kae!" she chirped, her small legs kicking a happy rhythm against her stool. "My teacher said it was the most creative eruption she's ever seen!"
Kaelen looked at the child's bright, trusting face, and a wave of nausea and self-loathing so profound it almost made her gag washed over her. How can you smile at her? the voice of her fear whispered, cold and relentless. How can you let her get close to you, when you are eighty percent of the way to becoming the person who documented her every weakness for the sole purpose of control?
She was a wolf in the sheepfold, and the sheep were nuzzling against her, utterly oblivious to the teeth she was terrified of growing back.
The true crucible, however, came in the early afternoon, with the arrival of her sister. Lilith had made it a part of her new, demanding routine. She would spend her morning at the Vesper offices, a sharp, formidable presence keeping Kaelen's legacy intact, and then she would come to the penthouse, her expression shifting from ruthless CEO to a stern, demanding, but undeniably caring drill sergeant for Kaelen's recovery.
Today, Sera was there to meet her at the door, and they entered the living room together, a united front of support that Kaelen found both touching and terrifying.
"Alright," Lilith said, her voice cutting through the quiet, leaving no room for argument. She was dressed in a sharp, grey pantsuit, looking every bit the corporate powerhouse, but her eyes, when they focused on Kaelen, were sharp with a sister's critical assessment. "Dr. Theron's reports say your progress is off the charts. I want to see it. Hallway and back. No stopping."
Sera came to Kaelen's other side, kneeling beside the couch where Kaelen sat. Her expression was all soft encouragement, a stark contrast to Lilith's brisk efficiency. "You can do this, Kae," she said, her voice a low, warm murmur meant only for her. "Just one step at a time. We're right here with you."
This was their new dynamic: Lilith was the strategist, the one who understood the mechanics of an Alpha's body and the relentless Blackwood drive. Sera was the heart, the emotional fuel, the unwavering belief. They were a perfect team, a pincer movement of love and logic designed to push Kaelen forward. And Kaelen, trapped in her silent, secret terror, knew she had to fail them both.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She didn't want to do it. Every successful step, every ounce of reclaimed strength, felt like a betrayal, a step closer to the eighty percent completion. A step closer to her own erasure. She wanted to fail. She wanted to collapse. She wanted to prove that she was still weak, still safe, still her.
But she couldn't. She couldn't show weakness in front of Lilith's demanding gaze. She couldn't disappoint the hopeful, loving look in Sera's eyes. So she did what her father had taught her to do. She performed. But this time, she was performing weakness.
The journey was a silent, screaming agony. The physical pain was a familiar fire, but the psychological pain was a new and exquisite form of torture. With every determined, painful step she forced herself to take, her mind was a frantic, looping mantra of terror.
One step. I feel strong today. Oh God, I feel stronger. Is this it? Is this the monster waking up?
She deliberately let her arm tremble, a feigned weakness that cost her more effort than simply holding herself steady.
"Straighten your back, Kaelen," Lilith's sharp voice cut through her thoughts from a few feet ahead. "Your form is collapsing. You're protecting your core. Don't. Engage it."
"You're doing so well," Sera's soft voice encouraged from beside her, a gentle hand hovering near her back, not touching, but its presence a warm promise of support. "Look how far you've already come."
Two steps. Sera is smiling. She's so proud. She's proud of her own destruction. She's cheering for the death of the person she loves.
She let her injured leg drag just a little more than it needed to, a small, almost imperceptible falter that sent a jolt of real pain through her ankle. She bit back a gasp. The pain was good. The pain was proof that she was still broken, still safe.
"Careless," Lilith snapped, her brow furrowing in concern. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and focus on the movement. Heel, toe. Don't just drag it. You know how to do this."
"It's okay if you're tired, Kae," Sera murmured. "We can take a break."
Three steps. My balance is better. No, no, no, this is wrong. I have to stop. I have to fail.
Halfway down the hall, she let out a small, sharp cry she didn't have to fake, as she deliberately put too much weight on her bad foot. She stumbled, her body lurching violently to one side. Sera was there in an instant, her hands shooting out to steady her, her touch a jolt of warmth and panic.
"That's it," Sera said, her voice firm with worry. "That's enough. Lilith, she's in pain."
"I'm fine," Kaelen gasped, leaning heavily on the supports, her body slick with a mixture of real and feigned sweat. "I can… I can make it back."
The return trip was a masterpiece of self-sabotage. Every step was a carefully calibrated failure. She let her arms shake, she complained of a dizziness she didn't feel, she allowed her form to collapse into a pathetic, clumsy shuffle. It was the most exhausting performance of her life, a war fought against her own healing body. She reached the living room and collapsed onto the couch, her body a quivering, exhausted wreck, her performance so convincing she almost believed it herself.
"Kaelen!" Sera was there in an instant, a cool glass of water in her hand, her face a mask of worry and disappointment, not in Kaelen, but for her.
Lilith stood over her, arms crossed, her expression a complex mix of frustration, deep worry, and a dawning, sharp-eyed suspicion. "This isn't just a bad day," she stated, her voice low and dangerous. "This is a retreat. I was at the hospital with you two days ago. Your strength was ten times this. What happened between then and now?"
"Nothing," Kaelen lied, her voice a weak, pathetic thing. She couldn't look at either of them. "I'm just tired."
Sera knelt beside the couch, her hand resting on Kaelen's knee. "Kaelen, you can talk to us," she said, her voice a soft, pleading murmur. "What is it? What are you so afraid of?"
They were cornering her. Their combined love and concern was a cage, and she was a trapped animal. To protect her secret, to push them away, she had to make them stop asking questions. She needed a weapon. And the most effective, most brutal weapon she could think of was cruelty.
She looked at Sera, at her beautiful, concerned, loving face, and she aimed the blow with a cold, calculated precision.
"It hurt!" she snapped, the lie coming out with a sharp, defensive anger that surprised even her. It felt like a betrayal to the intimacy of the night before, a slap in the face to the woman who had worshipped her broken body. "You don't know what it feels like! To have your own body betray you, to have every step be a mountain of pain! Your soft words and encouragement don't magically fix a shattered ankle, Sera!"
The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. They were cruel, unfair, and a deflection from the truth. She saw the flash of deep, profound hurt in Sera's eyes, and it was like a physical blow. Sera flinched, not a large movement, but a subtle, almost imperceptible tightening of her features, as if Kaelen had just slapped her. The light in her eyes, the warm, unwavering belief, dimmed, replaced by a wounded, shocked confusion.
"You're right," Sera said, her voice a quiet, wounded whisper that was a thousand times worse than shouting. "I don't. I'm sorry." She stood, her posture suddenly rigid, a wall of her own being erected between them. She didn't retreat. She just stood there, a few feet away, her arms wrapping around her own waist in a gesture of self-protection.
Lilith, who had been watching the exchange with a hawk's intensity, let out a slow, disappointed breath. She saw the tactic for what it was—a desperate, clumsy defense mechanism. She saw the shadow of their father's manipulative cruelty in Kaelen's words, the lashing out at the person closest to you to create space.
The silence that followed was a chasm, a vast, empty space where their fragile, newfound intimacy used to be. Kaelen had succeeded. The lie had worked. It had pushed her away. It had created a distance. And it was the most lonely, agonizing victory of her life.
Lilith finally broke the silence, her voice devoid of its earlier sharpness, replaced by a weary resignation. "I have to get back to the office," she said, her gaze fixed on Kaelen, her eyes full of a deep, unspoken disappointment. "We'll try again tomorrow, Kaelen. And I expect better."
With a final, lingering, and deeply troubled look at Kaelen, and a soft, sympathetic glance at Sera, she left. The click of the closing door was an unnaturally loud sound in the tense, heavy silence.
That night was a cold, silent hell. They moved around each other like strangers, the easy, comfortable intimacy of the past week completely gone. They ate dinner in a tense, heavy silence. They watched a movie without a single word, a vast, empty canyon of space on the couch between them.
When it was time for bed, the silence was the loudest it had been all day. As Kaelalen lay in the darkness, her back to Sera's side of the bed, she could feel the questions, the hurt, the confusion radiating from the woman lying just a few feet away.
She was succeeding. She was protecting Sera by pushing her away. She was creating the distance that would be necessary for when the monster finally, inevitably, returned.
But as she lay there, in the cold, self-imposed isolation of her own terror, a single, heartbreaking sob escaped her lips, swallowed by the darkness of the room. This was the true nature of her father's curse. He hadn't just made her a monster. He had made her so terrified of that monster that she was now forced to destroy the only happiness she had ever known, all in the name of love. The fear was a cold, lonely companion in the dark.
The night was a cold, silent hell. It was a vast, empty expanse of darkness, punctuated only by the soft, even rhythm of Sera's breathing from the other side of the bed. To Kaelen, that sound, which had been a profound comfort just two nights ago, was now a form of exquisite torture. It was the sound of a life she was methodically, deliberately, pushing away. She lay on her back, her body rigid, staring into the oppressive blackness of the room, replaying the hurt, wounded look in Sera's eyes on a continuous, agonizing loop.
She had succeeded. She had built a wall. She had created the distance she so desperately, terrifyingly believed was necessary to protect Sera from the monster she was becoming. But the victory felt like a hollow, gaping wound in her chest. She had never, in her entire eighteen years of remembered life, felt so utterly and completely alone.
The silence between them was a physical entity. In the morning, it was a thick, suffocating fog that filled the spaces as they moved around each other like ghosts. Sera was polite, her movements efficient, her voice a gentle, neutral tone as she asked Kaelen if she needed anything. The warm, easy affection was gone, replaced by the careful, professional distance of a caretaker. The pain of that distance was a thousand times worse than the sharp, defensive words Kaelen had used to create it.
Iris was a brief, painful reprieve, her innocent, chattering energy a stark contrast to the heavy, adult sorrow that saturated the air. Kaelen tried to smile, to engage, but her heart wasn't in it. Every warm look from the child felt like a condemnation, a reminder of the future she was actively trying to prevent, a future where the monster might turn its cold, dead eyes on this beautiful, vibrant little girl.
After Iris left for school, the silence returned, heavier and more suffocating than before. Sera retreated to her home office to deal with a mountain of Vesper-related work, the soft, determined clicks of her keyboard the only sound in the vast penthouse. Kaelen was left alone in the living room, a prisoner in her own home, a prisoner of her own fear. The number floated in the periphery of her vision, a silent, mocking ghost. 80%.
She looked at her crutches, propped against the couch. She looked down the long, empty expanse of the hallway. Lilith would be here in a few hours, her sharp eyes missing nothing, her disappointment a tangible force. Sera was already wounded, already pulling away. She had achieved her goal. She was protecting them.
So why did it feel like she was dying?
The lie was a poison, rotting her from the inside out. The performance of weakness was a betrayal not just to Sera and Lilith, but to herself, to the small, stubborn spark within her that refused to be broken. Sera's words from two nights ago, the words that had been her lifeline, now felt like a taunt. You are a survivor… I am your shield… We will fight him together. How could they fight together when Kaelen was secretly, desperately fighting against her own recovery?
The day wore on, a slow, agonizing crawl of hours. Lunch was another silent, tense affair. Kaelen could feel Sera's worry, her confusion, her hurt. It was a constant, low-grade hum in the air between them, a painful static that was driving her insane. She couldn't take it anymore. The isolation was a cage far more terrifying than the one her father had built.
That night, after a dinner consumed in the same heavy silence, after Iris was tucked into bed, after the cartoon on the television had played to an empty, silent room, Kaelen knew she had to do something. The wall she had built was suffocating her.
Sera was in the kitchen, washing the few dishes from their meal, her back to Kaelen. Her posture was rigid, every movement precise, controlled. She was a fortress of hurt.
Kaelen took a deep, shaky breath. She pushed herself up from the couch, her arms trembling not just from the physical effort, but from the sheer, terrifying weight of what she was about to do. She grabbed her crutches, the familiar, solid weight a small comfort in her trembling hands.
"Sera," she said, her voice a low, rough thing in the quiet room.
Sera froze, her hands submerged in the soapy water. She didn't turn around. "Yes?" Her voice was flat, neutral.
"I… I lied," Kaelen confessed, the words a painful, ripped thing. "Today. With Lilith. I wasn't… it wasn't that I was in too much pain. I was afraid."
Sera slowly turned off the water, the sudden silence deafening. She still didn't turn around.
"I was a coward," Kaelen continued, her voice gaining a desperate, pleading edge. "I was afraid of getting stronger. And I lashed out at you because I was scared, and it was cruel, and it was unfair, and I am so, so sorry."
Sera finally turned, her face a mask of weary sorrow. "Afraid of what, Kaelen? Afraid of the pain? Afraid of falling?"
"No," Kaelen whispered, the truth a heavy stone she couldn't quite bring herself to show. "I'm afraid of… succeeding."
The confusion in Sera's eyes was so profound it was like a physical blow. But before she could question her, Kaelen held up a hand. "I can't explain it. Not yet. But I can show you. I can show you that I am not a coward. I can show you that I want to fight." She looked down the long, dimly lit hallway, the same stretch of floor that had been the stage for her failure just hours before. "Practice with me," she pleaded. "Tonight. Right now. Please."
Sera looked at her for a long, searching moment. She saw the desperation in her eyes, the raw, unfiltered plea for a second chance, for a way to bridge the chasm she had created between them. A slow, tired sigh escaped her lips, and the rigid, fortress-like posture softened. "Okay, Kaelen," she said softly. "Okay."
And so, their late-night pilgrimage began. The first few steps were a clumsy, agonizing reminder of the afternoon's failure. Kaelen's body was stiff, her muscles protesting, her mind a screaming chorus of fear and self-doubt.
"I can't," she gasped, after just a few feet, leaning heavily on the crutches, her arms shaking.
"Yes, you can," Sera's voice was there, a low, steady presence beside her. She wasn't just offering empty encouragement this time. She moved, placing her hands lightly on Kaelen's waist, a firm, grounding touch that was both a support and a demand. "I am right here. I am not letting you fall. Now, breathe. And take another step."
Kaelen did. It was a small, shuffling movement, but it was a step.
"Good," Sera murmured, her breath warm against Kaelen's ear. "Again."
And so it went. For hours. They moved up and down the long, silent hallway of the penthouse, the city lights a glittering, silent audience outside the vast windows. The silence between them slowly transformed from a tense, heavy thing into a shared, focused quiet. The only sounds were the rhythmic thud of Kaelen's crutches, the soft scuff of their feet on the polished floor, and Sera's low, constant stream of instruction and encouragement.
And then, the teasing began. It was a gentle, probing thing at first, a test of the fragile truce between them.
"You know, for a fearsome Blackwood," Sera said, her voice laced with a light, playful mockery, "you walk like a baby flamingo. All wobbly legs and surprised expression."
Kaelen, who had been gritting her teeth against a fresh wave of pain, let out a startled, breathy laugh. The sound was a shock to them both. "And you," she retorted, her voice a little breathless, "are a very bossy, very demanding drill sergeant."
"I learned from the best," Sera shot back, a reference to Lilith that made Kaelen smile a real, genuine smile. "Now, engage your core. You're built like a warrior, start acting like one. I've seen Iris have better posture after three bowls of sugary cereal."
The banter was a balm, a lubricant against the grinding pain of the exercise. It was a distraction, a shared language that allowed them to communicate without having to touch the raw, wounded heart of their conflict.
"If you were a dancer," Sera mused, as they made their twentieth turn at the end of the hall, "your signature move would be the 'agonized shuffle.'"
"And if you were a therapist," Kaelen gasped, her arms burning, "your primary technique would be insult and mockery."
"It's working, isn't it?" Sera said, her voice full of a smug satisfaction. And the infuriating thing was, she was right. It was working. Kaelen was so focused on their verbal sparring, on the feeling of Sera's warm, steady hands on her waist, that the pain became a secondary, background noise. She was moving more fluidly, her steps more confident, her body finding a rhythm it had forgotten it knew.
As the hours bled into the deep, dark quiet of the pre-dawn, they were a single, moving entity. Kaelen was exhausted, every muscle in her body screaming in protest, but she was still moving. Sera was a warm, living brace at her side, her own body aching with the effort of supporting and guiding her, but her voice never faltered.
Finally, as the first, pale, grey light of dawn began to seep into the sky, Kaelen reached the end of the hallway for what felt like the hundredth time. She stopped, her body a single, trembling, exhausted ache. "I think… I think that's all I've got," she whispered, her voice a raw, spent thing.
"You did it," Sera said, her own voice full of a soft, awestruck pride.
And then, Kaelen's arms gave out. The crutches clattered to the floor. But she didn't fall. Sera was there, her arms wrapping around her in an instant, taking her full weight, holding her up. Kaelen collapsed against her, her head falling onto Sera's shoulder, her own arms coming up to weakly wrap around Sera's waist. They just stood there, in the middle of the hallway, in the pale, quiet light of a new day, clinging to each other.
"I'm sorry," Kaelen whispered into the soft fabric of Sera's shirt, the apology for everything, for the lies, for the cruelty, for the wall she had built.
"I know," Sera whispered back, her hand stroking Kaelen's hair. "It's okay. We're okay."
They stood there for a long time, until Kaelen finally found the strength to stand on her own again. The chasm between them had been bridged, not with words or apologies, but with a shared, late-night pilgrimage of pain, and banter, and unwavering, stubborn support.
Later that morning, when Lilith arrived, her face a mask of stern, professional expectation, she found Kaelen and Sera asleep on the couch, tangled together under a blanket, their faces soft and peaceful in the morning light. She didn't wake them. She just stood there for a moment, a small, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips.
When she returned that afternoon, Sera was at a fitting, and Kaelen was alone, reading on the couch.
"Alright," Lilith said, her voice brisk. "Let's see it. Let's see if you've decided to stop feeling sorry for yourself."
Kaelen took a deep breath. She pushed herself up, grabbed her crutches, and with a slow, deliberate, and almost perfect form, she walked the length of the hallway and back. Her arms were steady. Her core was engaged. Her gaze was fixed and determined. It was a night-and-day transformation.
Lilith watched, her arms crossed, her mask of cold composure cracking with a visible, profound shock.
When Kaelen returned to the couch, Lilith was still standing there, her expression unreadable.
"That was…" she began, then stopped, as if she couldn't find the right words. She let out a slow breath. "That was impressive." She looked at Kaelen, her gaze direct, and for the first time, Kaelen saw not a drill sergeant or a CEO, but her older sister. "I'm sorry, Kaelen," she said, her voice quiet, sincere. "For how I acted yesterday. I was… frustrated. I see you, this fragile version of you, and it makes me afraid. And when I'm afraid, I get angry. It's a Blackwood failing. My method was wrong." She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod of respect. "Whatever Sera is doing… it's working. Keep listening to her."
The apology was a balm, a final, healing piece in the puzzle of the last twenty-four hours. The team was back together, the alliance reforged, stronger than before.
But as Kaelen smiled, a real, genuine smile of relief and gratitude, the number floated in the corner of her vision, a silent, cold reminder. 80%. The external war had been won, for now. But the internal, secret battle was still raging. And it was a battle she was still fighting utterly and completely alone.