The intensity of their shared existence in Eliott's loft, the constant immersion in their reclaimed past, was exhilarating, intoxicating, and utterly exhausting. Maëlys felt like a raw nerve, constantly exposed. While the physical intimacy was scorching, and her body remembered the dangerous dance of submission and demand, her mind struggled with the moral implications of their intertwined history with Léonie and Liam. The joy of remembered passion was always shadowed by the ghost of their tragic past.
One day, while Eliott was out running errands, a sudden, acute wave of clarity washed over Maëlys. A complete, unbidden memory, sharp and terrifying, cut through the haze. She was in a car, Liam was driving, his face contorted with rage, yelling at her, accusing her. And Léonie, in the backseat, was crying, pleading for him to stop, to calm down. The air was thick with tension, not just from Liam's fury, but from the unbearable weight of her own guilt – the secret glances, the stolen moments, the betrayals with Eliott. The car swerved, a blind rage consuming Liam, and then the sickening crunch, the world spinning, Léonie's desperate scream, and then… darkness.
Maëlys gasped, clutching her head, the vividness of the memory almost physical. She saw it all now. Not just through Eliott's eyes, but through her own. She had been a participant in the destructive game, not just an innocent victim. She had contributed to the chaos, to Liam's desperation. Her past self, the one Eliott claimed to love, was reckless, selfish, and profoundly flawed. And a bitter truth settled in her gut: Eliott had not just saved her, he had saved himself by letting her forget. Saved himself from confronting the full extent of their shared culpability.
When Eliott returned, the loft felt suffocating. The air, usually thick with desire, was now heavy with unspoken accusations. He sensed the shift instantly, his stormy eyes narrowing, his posture tensing.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice low, cautious.
Maëlys stood, her body rigid, her gaze cold. "I remember," she stated, her voice flat, devoid of the passion that had characterized their recent days. "I remember more. Not just your version. My version." She watched his face, saw the flicker of fear, of dread, in his eyes. He knew. "Liam wasn't just jealous, Eliott. He was broken. And we broke him further. We played with fire, and we got burned. All of us."
Her voice rose, gaining strength. "You didn't just save me from the accident. You saved me from the truth of who I was. And who we were. You wanted to protect me, yes, but you also wanted to protect yourself from facing what we had done." Her eyes blazed with a mix of fury and raw insight. "You allowed me to forget, so you wouldn't have to confront the full scope of our shared guilt, of the blood on our hands!"
Eliott's face paled, his usual composure crumbling. He took a step back, as if struck. "Maëlys, that's not..."
"Don't lie to me again!" she roared, the words tearing from her throat. "Not now! I was just as complicit. Just as reckless. And you kept it from me. You let me believe I was some innocent victim, when I was right there, igniting the fuse!" Tears streamed down her face, not of sorrow, but of a fierce, desperate rage. "This isn't love, Eliott. This is a prison built on lies and shared trauma! And I can't breathe in it anymore!"
The invisible wall, once a flimsy barrier, now became a concrete manifestation of her raw, furious realization. She didn't want the passion. She didn't want the memories. She wanted the choice she'd been denied. She wanted freedom, even if it meant tearing herself, and him, apart in the process. This was her breaking point, the moment the dark romance twisted into something truly destructive, a battle for her soul.