Chapter 278: When Two Lifetimes Collide

Ever since Edmund was born into this world, there hadn’t been many people willing to lend him a hand. Most of the time, they claimed they stayed away because they were afraid of him.

They thought he was cursed, something that should have never existed in the first place. His parents, along with the rest of the world, had disowned him, but his wolf had never left his side.

His wolf was the only one who reached out to him, holding his hand when the darkness tried to swallow him whole.

The wolf might have been cruel and hard to tame, but he had always been the perfect protector and Edmund’s only companion.

“I’ve always tried to guide him to become a better man, even in the past,” the wolf said softly, voice like a low hiss. “But what’s the use of guidance if he’s not able to follow it, or doesn’t have the courage to act on it?”

He continued, “Fortunately, in this lifetime, you managed to pull him out of his shell.”

Primrose was touched by the affection in his voice and how deeply he cared for Edmund.

At the very least, there had always been one soul who never gave up on him, even before she came into his life.

But that kind of warmth—those feelings of gratitude and comfort—didn’t last long.

It disappeared the moment she remembered that Edmund was still suffering. He was still trapped in his own pain, and still carrying everything on his own.

“I want to see him,” Primrose said firmly. “I want … to meet my husband.”

The wolf raised an eyebrow. “Did you not hear what I just said? He’s not in a good state. If he comes out now, the only thing you’ll see in him is pain and misery.”

Primrose smiled bitterly. “Then let me share it with him,” she said. “At least this time, he won’t suffer alone.”

There was still a bitter taste in her mouth every time she remembered ’Edmund’ crying by himself at her grave.

If only she had been able to hold him then, she would’ve never let go of that embrace again.

“I just … I don’t want him to be left alone,” Primrose whispered.

There were still so many questions she wanted to ask the wolf—like how he knew she could read minds, or how he was able to block or filter Edmund’s thoughts.

However, none of that mattered now because in this moment, there was only one thing she truly wanted.

“I just want to see him,” she whispered. “Even if he’s broken or even if he’s crying. I’ll be there to hold him.”

The wolf stared at her for a long, quiet moment. Then, with the faintest smile and a resigned sigh, he leaned forward. “Alright,” he murmured. “Then go to him.”

As the words left his lips, everything shifted in a matter of seconds.

The green in his eyes faded again, replaced by the familiar icy blue she knew so well, only this time, they were dulled by sorrow and pain.

His shoulders trembled, and his breathing grew shallow, as if even the simple act of existing had become too heavy to bear.

“Primrose?” His voice cracked as he said her name, barely louder than a whisper.

She still couldn’t hear his thoughts, most likely because his wolf was blocking them again, but it didn’t matter now.

She didn’t need to read his mind to understand what he was feeling because his pain was written across his face with terrifying clarity.

Tears brimmed in his eyes, and for a moment, he looked completely lost, like a man who had just awakened from a nightmare, only to realize he was still trapped in it.

But it wasn’t just sadness in his gaze.

It was guilt, grief, and something even deeper, like the shattered remains of a soul that had witnessed death again and again and was now crumbling under the weight of memory.

It seemed his wolf hadn’t just told him what had happened in their past life, but he had shown him.

Fragments of memories must have been transferred into Edmund’s mind, unfiltered pieces of their shared history.

The memories that had been carved so deeply into the wolf’s soul, and now, Edmund could see them too.

That was why his pain didn’t just feel like something present, it felt endless, like it had always been waiting there for the moment it could finally be free.

It was as if the Edmund from that doomed timeline had crawled out of the grave and merged with this one, bringing with him every tear he had never cried, every scream he had buried.

No, honestly, Primrose wasn’t even sure if the Edmund from her past life had truly died.

Raven had once told her that she couldn’t sense him anymore after he left the Valedorn Kingdom. It was as if he had vanished into thin air, leaving behind only silence and the haunting possibility that he had chosen to disappear forever.

While now, that same silence seemed to be echoing through the man trembling in her arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered so softly that Primrose could barely hear it.

It was the only thing he kept saying, again and again, like a broken record stuck on a single line with no way to move forward.

Each time he repeated it, his voice grew quieter, but the pain behind it grew louder, cutting deeper into Primrose’s heart.

“I’m sorry,” he choked, his voice trembling with emotion. “I should have tried harder to protect you. I should have tried my best to be a good husband.”

The way he spoke and the way he trembled in her arms didn’t feel like someone overwhelmed by guilt.

It felt like someone was mourning, and he wasn’t just mourning her, but he was mourning himself.

He mourned the man he used to be, the man who had unknowingly neglected his precious wife. The man who had failed to communicate with her and allowed so many misunderstandings to grow between them.

He mourned all the versions of himself that had failed to understand her silence, that had misread her pain, that had never figured out how to speak her language of love.

He mourned not just her suffering, but his own helplessness, like a man trapped behind glass, watching the woman he loved slip further and further away, unable to do anything to stop it.

Primrose closed her eyes and held him tighter, pressing his trembling body close to hers, as if she could shield him from the weight of all those memories.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said gently. “You’re not the one who should be held responsible for my past life.”

Because Edmund—the one trembling in her arms right now—wasn’t the same man she had married in that first life, but even so, no matter which version he was, she now understood one undeniable truth: Both of them had loved her.

The Edmund from the past had loved her quietly, secretly, so deeply buried beneath fear and insecurity that even she hadn’t seen it, but it had been there.

And the Edmund she held now … he was the same soul, only now with the strength to hold her back.

“You were suffering …” Edmund said, voice thick with emotion. “Because of me.”

Then suddenly, she could hear his thoughts again. [This is my fault … No, it’s also my past self’s fault! He should’ve never treated my wife like that!]

The guilt in his mind was like a storm, crashing through every memory. He couldn’t separate himself from the man he used to be—because, deep down, they were one and the same.

Edmund then fell silent for a moment as a new thought struck him. [I … I also spoke that harshly the first time I met her in this life.]

Primrose gently cupped his cheek, locking eyes with him before he could spiral any further. “Yes, you were harsh with me at first,” she said softly, not to blame, but to acknowledge what happened. “But you changed. You regretted it. And you became a better version of yourself. That’s what matters to me.”

Edmund blinked several times, clearly stunned. The disbelief on his face made her realize that he didn’t know.

He truly hadn’t known she’d been reading his thoughts all this time.

His reaction made it clear that his wolf must have been keeping it from him, shielding the truth until she had revealed it herself during that conversation with Silas not long ago.

Still cupping his cheek, Primrose gave him a faint smile and continued, “Besides… I wasn’t completely innocent in my past life either.”

She took a deep breath. “I judged you too quickly. I let my fear get in the way… just because you were—”

“Monster?” Edmund cut in suddenly, his voice low and cautious.

“No!” she said instantly, eyes wide with alarm. “Not a monster.”

He flinched slightly, as if he hadn’t expected her to deny it so fiercely.

“You’re a lycan,” Primrose said in a soft voice. “And I don’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just … I’m human, and humans are taught to fear what they don’t understand.”

“I have to admit, I was afraid of you,” she continued. “Because in my mind, I thought I could die at any moment if you ever decided to hurt me.”

“But now I realize … I wasn’t really afraid of you. I was afraid of the terrible things I created in my own head.”

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