"No wonder… before all this, even though I didn't like you, you were always a good person. You and Livia… you were like a perfect match made by fate. I never thought I had a chance, and could only keep my feelings buried in my heart. So that's it… everything makes sense now." Elias's eyes flickered slightly, as if he had suddenly traced all the subtle hints of the past and finally understood. He spoke with a mixture of revelation and resignation, his brows furrowed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile—surprise, comprehension, and a quiet release of emotions he had carried for so long.
"But that doesn't seem right," Elias continued, his tone softening as he fixed his gaze on Marcellus. "From what I know about Livia and your relationship… she wouldn't have been disappointed or hopeless because of that. She would have trusted you unconditionally, or at least communicated with you." There was concern in his voice, and perhaps a hint of envy as well, as if he were trying to analyze everything clearly and rationally.
"Ha… can you believe it? Something everyone else could see, but I didn't… I really am… a damn fool." Marcellus let out a bitter laugh, low and hoarse, like air forced up from deep within his chest, carrying self-mockery and helplessness. He lowered his head, fingers tapping unconsciously against the edge of the table, each tap turning white and sounding like a hammer against his own regret.
His gaze fell on his own hands, as if he could see all the negligence and cowardice etched into his palms, cold and piercing. His mind churned, flashing with countless images: the doubt and disappointment in Livia's eyes, the silences and backturned shoulders he had failed to understand. He finally realized that if he had set aside that meaningless pride back then and spoken sooner, perhaps none of this would have come to pass.
A weightless stone seemed to press against his chest, making each breath heavy and sluggish, each inhalation filled with remorse. He exhaled softly, his voice so low it seemed to be swallowed by the air, yet it carried the confession of his past self. He knew he had lost more than just opportunities—he had lost the chance for a purer trust and understanding between him and Livia.
He lifted his head, eyes dim yet flickering with a trace of resolute light—light tinged with regret, but also with responsibility. The room's shifting shadows danced across his face, highlighting his tangled, conflicted expression—self-reproach mingled with a faint glimmer of hope.
Marcellus slowly drew his hand back, his shoulders trembling slightly, as if silently telling himself: no matter how hard it is, I must face all of this; I must fulfill the responsibilities that fall upon me.
But soon, a more pressing thought seized him. His gaze darkened, deep as night, locking onto Elias so intensely that it seemed impossible to look away. His voice dropped low and forceful, each word slicing the air like a blade, carrying undeniable gravity:
"I'm not going to speak about that right now. I want to ask you—after my relationship with Livia broke down, what did she do with you? What did she say? I'm not trying to blame you. I just need to know the truth."
The air in the room seemed to freeze. Even the ticking of the clock in the corner sounded unusually sharp. Elias froze for a moment, his breath slightly quickened. He had thought he had already confessed his feelings, yet under Marcellus's cold, piercing gaze, he felt an inexplicable pressure. His hands clenched unconsciously, then slowly loosened, as if searching for courage.