Chapter 208: I Will Never Stop Loving You..

A soft groan slips from my lips as consciousness returns—slow, reluctant, like surfacing from deep water after being pulled under too long.

My eyes open—or try to. The lids are heavy, each blink an effort, each movement sending faint threads of pain through my skull.

Everything is white.

The ceiling stretches above me, polished and pristine—endless, almost unreal. The lights are harsh, too bright, cutting through the fog in my mind and forcing my eyes to narrow.

For a moment, I think I might be dead. Maybe this is heaven— clean, cold, and empty.

Then I hear his voice.

“Zyren… Zyren…”

Deniz. He’s calling my name—soft, desperate—like he’s been saying it for hours. Like the word itself is a prayer he’s afraid won’t be answered.

His voice cracks on the second syllable. Raw—whether from crying or from lack of sleep, I don’t know. Maybe both.

I blink again, slower this time, forcing the world into focus. The ceiling sharpens into squares. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead. The pain settles in—low and constant, threaded through my bones. A dull ache spreading through my body.

A reminder. I’m still here. Still breathing. Still alive.

I turn my face slowly, my neck protesting the movement with a sharp twinge. He’s sitting beside my bed, so close his knees nearly touch the mattress. His hand holds mine, fingers laced together, his grip tight like he’s afraid I’ll slip away again.

His face is full of worry—etched into every line, every shadow beneath his eyes, every tightness in his jaw. His eyes are red and swollen, the kind of redness that comes from crying too long, from tears that won’t stop no matter how hard you try.

I stare at him for a long moment, gathering my voice from somewhere deep. When I speak, it comes out weak, almost a whisper, fragile as glass.

“Why did you leave me?”

A tear slips down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away. It traces a path through the evidence of earlier tears, catching the light before falling onto our joined hands.

“I’m sorry.” His voice breaks. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. I didn’t think—” He stops, swallowing hard. “I never thought this would happen.”

He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it—soft, trembling, reverent. His breath is warm against my cold skin.

“I’m so sorry.”

I look away—at the ceiling, at the harsh light, at anything but his face. The white tiles blur slightly, and I blink, trying to steady my vision, trying to hold myself together.

But my mind is stuck on a single question, circling endlessly, refusing to let me breathe past it.

Why did he leave me?

My voice comes out quiet when I speak again, almost fragile, like it might break if I push it any further.

“Deniz…”

I swallow, my throat tight, my chest heavy with something I can’t name.

“Why did you leave me?”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Silence stretches between us—thick, heavy, pressing down on my chest until it feels hard to breathe.

Then he finally speaks. His voice is low, filled with shame, each word weighed down by guilt.

“That night… when you went to the restroom, Angel’s behavior changed. He told me…”

He pauses, the memory clearly paining him, like even speaking it aloud hurts.

“He said you’ve loved him since childhood. That you wanted him at any cost… but he refused you because he was confused about his feelings.”

Another tear slips down his cheek. Then another.

“He said… you only started a relationship with me to forget him.” His voice trembles, barely holding together. “And that if he told you he loved you… you would leave me without hesitation.”

His eyes drop to our joined hands, and I watch more tears fall—silent, uncontrollable, each one heavier than the last.

I look at him.

At this man who believed a lie because he was afraid of losing me. At this man who stayed. Who held me in the dark… and promised me forever.

“Deniz.”

He looks up, his eyes meeting mine. “Did you really think my love for you was fake?” My voice is soft, barely above a breath. “Just something to pass the time?”

He shakes his head quickly—too quickly. “No. How could I—”

I gently slip my hand from his and reach up, my fingers trembling slightly as I cup his face.

His skin is warm against my cold palm.

I wipe away his tears, my thumb tracing the path down his cheek, catching each one before it can fall.

“Deniz.”

I hold his gaze, letting him see everything I can’t put into words. “You are my first love.”

His voice is barely a whisper—fragile, broken. “I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.”

I pause, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my dry lips. “But only if you do something for me.”

He blinks, confusion flickering across his face for a moment, before he nods quickly—almost too quickly.

“I’ll do anything. Whatever you say.”

A soft smile spreads across my lips, cracking the dryness—warm despite everything.

“Give me a kiss.”

He goes still, caught off guard by the simplicity of it.

Then, slowly, carefully, he leans down—like he’s afraid I might break beneath his touch.

His lips meet mine.

Soft. Gentle. Tender.

It isn’t a demanding kiss— it’s an apology. A promise. Something quiet and fragile between us.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes searching mine, as if trying to find something only I can give him.

I cradle his face between my palms, his skin warm against my cold fingers, his jaw fitting perfectly in my hands.

“No matter what happens,” I say softly, each word slow, deliberate, carrying more weight than I can fully express, “I will never stop loving you.”

His eyes fill with fresh tears—bright, unstoppable. I catch one before it falls, brushing it away with my thumb.

“Now stop crying.” My voice is soft, teasing, loving—the kind of tone I use only for him.

“I don’t like tears in my wife’s eyes.”

He smiles—small, watery, beautiful—and leans in to kiss me again.

I close my eyes and let myself feel it. The warmth of his lips. The steadiness of his breath. The way his hand holds mine—like I’m something fragile, something precious.

After you came into my life, I started to fear death. Not because of dying… but because of losing you.

I can’t imagine it— a world where I don’t wake up beside you, where I don’t hear your voice, where I don’t feel your hand in mine.

And I don’t have the words to explain how much I love you.

But maybe I don’t need them.

— Bonus Scene: Angel & Deniz —

The heavy dining room door closes behind Zyren with a soft, final thud. The sound lingers for a moment, echoing through the space—then fades into silence.

Angel’s gaze remains fixed on the door. He watches. Waits. As if expecting it to open again. But it doesn’t. Zyren is gone.

And the room feels different now—emptier, colder. Slowly, Angel turns his attention back to Deniz. The soft smile he wore moments ago—the one meant for Zyren, warm and effortless—begins to fade.

It doesn’t vanish all at once. It drains away, like water slipping through sand, leaving something sharper behind. His expression shifts. Hardens. Becomes colder.

He picks up his wine glass and takes a slow sip, letting the dark liquid linger before swallowing. His eyes never leave Deniz.

“Do you really think,” he says quietly, his voice smooth as silk, “that Zyren truly loves you?”

Deniz blinks, caught off guard by the sudden question. He looks up from his plate, his brow furrowing slightly.

“What do you mean?”

Angel takes another sip, unhurried, savoring the moment. “Zyren has loved me since we were children,” he says, almost casually. “He’s always wanted me. No matter the cost.”

He sets the glass down and leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed—confident. “I was his caretaker, yes… but he always treated me differently from everyone else.” His golden eyes meet Deniz’s, steady, unblinking.

“I’ve always been special to him.”

Deniz doesn’t react immediately.

He reaches up and removes his glasses slowly, folding them with care before setting them on the table. His movements are calm, deliberate—unhurried.

When he speaks, his voice is steady.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Angel’s lips curve into a faint, knowing smile. “I’m just being honest with you,” he says lightly. “It’s better for you to forget him. Walk away now… before you get hurt.”

He pauses, letting the words sink in. “Back then, I refused him because I was confused about my feelings.”

A slight tilt of his head, golden hair catching the light.

“But now…”

His gaze sharpens. “Now I’m sure.” A breath. “I love him.”

Deniz remains silent, his dark eyes fixed on Angel. His expression doesn’t change—calm, composed, unreadable.

“He’s only with you,” Angel continues, his voice soft but edged now, “because he wanted to forget me.” He leans forward slightly. “If I told him I loved him… if I asked him to come back…”

A small, deliberate spread of his hands. “He would leave you.” A pause. “Without hesitation.”

Deniz’s gaze doesn’t waver. His voice is calm, controlled—almost quiet.

“Is that so?”

Angel’s composure flickers. Just for a moment—just enough for Deniz to catch it.

Something cracks behind his golden eyes.

“No matter what you say,” Deniz continues, each word measured, steady, “I still believe him.”

Angel’s hands clench in his lap, the fabric of his trousers twisting beneath his fingers.

When he speaks again, his voice is tighter—strained at the edges.

“What if he chooses me?”

A beat. “What if he realizes I’m the one he’s always wanted?”

Deniz stands. The movement is slow, unhurried—yet it carries weight. He looks down at Angel, his dark eyes calm… almost pitying.

“Then I’ll give you that chance.” His voice is clear. Cold. Unwavering. “Confess to him. Tell him how you feel.”

A pause.

“If he says yes—if he truly chooses you—then I’ll remove myself from both of your lives.”

Another pause, quieter this time.

“No hesitation.”

He reaches for his glasses and slips them back on, the motion precise, controlled. “But if he refuses…” His gaze sharpens slightly.

“You already know what to do.”

He turns and walks toward the door, his steps steady, measured—leaving Angel alone at the table.

“You really believe him that much?”

Angel’s voice comes from behind him now—quieter, stripped of its earlier certainty.

Deniz stops. He doesn’t turn back. When he speaks, his voice is clear—cold, final.

“More than you could ever imagine.”

He opens the door and steps out. The door closes softly behind him.

Angel sits alone in the silence, surrounded by half-eaten food and dying candlelight, his golden eyes fixed on the empty chair across from him.

His hands, still clenched in his lap, tremble—just slightly.

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