Fated To Not Just One, But Three Chapter 237: Pretend It Was She

Lennox’s POV

I stared at this strange lady standing in front of , with tears in her eyes. She looked nothing like Olivia, but in this mont, she felt like her. Or maybe she was just giving a chance to pretend, pretend I could say the words I should have said when it mattered.

My throat tightened as I looked away, blinking hard. The wind rustled the roses behind us, carrying her soft scent mixed with the morning air.

"You want to say it?" I asked quietly, my voice almost cracking. She didn’t flinch. She just nodded, waiting, patient, like Olivia always was.

I dragged a shaky breath into my lungs. "Okay."

I forced myself to et her eyes again, and the words just poured out of like I’d been holding them in for a lifeti.

"I’m sorry, Olivia," I started, my voice hoarse. "I’m so damn sorry for everything. For every mont I made you feel alone when you were surrounded by people who should have loved you more than life itself."

She didn’t move. She just watched with eyes that seed to see right through .

"I’m sorry for every night you went to bed crying because I was too stubborn to say I was wrong. I’m sorry for every cruel thing I said—every ti I turned my back on you when you needed the most."

My chest burned. I didn’t care if my voice broke anymore. I didn’t care if I was acting vulnerable before a lady I just t barely twenty-four hours ago.

"I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could go back to that little girl crying over a bird and swear to the Moon Goddess that I’d protect you, even if it was from myself. But I didn’t. I let this world eat you alive. I let my pride ruin you. And now I’m here, talking to a stranger in a garden, pretending it’s you—because my heart refuses to let you go."

She blinked, more tears gathering in her eyes, and I stepped forward, my legs trembling.

"I don’t believe you’re dead," I said, my voice shaking but certain. "We’re doing this funeral, we’re dressing you up in lies and goodbyes, but my heart—my heart hasn’t accepted it. It won’t. It keeps telling you’re still here sowhere, waiting for to find you and make it right."

She swallowed hard, and I saw her lip quiver.

"I don’t believe it," I whispered again, more to myself than her. "I can’t."

A small sound escaped her throat—a choked, broken sound—and I realized she was crying again. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she quickly looked away like she didn’t want to see.

I didn’t think. I stepped closer until I could feel the warmth of her body in the morning air. Slowly, I lifted my hand and brushed my thumb under her eye, wiping away the tears. Her breath caught—a soft, startled gasp—and her eyes snapped up to mine.

The world seed to hold its breath with her. I felt it then—that pull. That sa magnetic pull I always felt with Olivia, the one that made want to lean in and steal a kiss I shouldn’t. For a heartbeat, I nearly did.

But before I could, I heard footsteps behind . Heavy, fast, urgent.

I turned my head and saw Louis standing there. His eyes darted from to her, suspicion and confusion mixing in his gaze.

Rebecca panicked, stepped back, and quickly wiped at her tears. "Sorry I cried... I’m just an emotional person," she whispered.

I nodded, but before I could say anything, she excused herself and turned away. I stood there and watched her hurry off until she disappeared from sight.

Louis, who had been quiet, strolled toward with a suspicious gaze. "You were about to kiss her," he said, not sounding angry though. "She is your uncle’s wife, rember?"

I didn’t say a word... rather, I just looked away... How do I tell him that in that mont I didn’t see her as Damien’s wife... I strangely saw Olivia standing in her place.

I let out a sigh and shook my head. "My mind is ssed up."

Louis didn’t look angry or surprised; rather, he just said, "The first ceremony is about to begin... we should get ready."

I wanted to say I didn’t want to go. I wanted to scream that I wasn’t ready. That this wasn’t real.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I quietly turned and made my way back to my room. My hands trembled slightly as I opened the door and stepped inside the stillness.

I shut it behind and leaned against it for a mont, eyes closed, chest rising and falling like I’d just finished a run. Then I forced myself to move.

I walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of white pants and a clean white long-sleeved shirt—the color of mourning in our tradition.

But how do you dress to bury soone who still lives in your heart?

Once I was dressed, I moved to the top drawer of my dresser. Inside was a small photo fra. A picture of us— and Olivia—when she was just twelve.

She was laughing, holding up a daisy chain she’d made. I stood beside her with an awkward half-smile, one arm resting over her small shoulders. We’d been so different then. So simple. So happy.

I sat on the edge of my bed, holding the photo in both hands. My fingers brushed over the glass as if I could feel her through it.

A tear slipped down my cheek.

"I don’t believe you’re dead," I whispered brokenly, tightening my grip on the fra. "I don’t. I can’t. It’s not true. Please, Olivia... please—give a sign. Just sothing. Anything. Let know you’re still out there. That I haven’t lost you completely."

I stared at the photo, waiting. My room was still. Too still. No whisper. No shift in the air. No flickering lights. Nothing.

Then, just as I was about to set the photo down, a soft knock ca at the door.

I stiffened.

For a mont, I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Another knock—gentler this ti.

I stood up slowly, wiping my face with the back of my hand, and walked over to open the door.

Rebecca stood before .

She stood there quietly, holding sothing out toward .

"Your handkerchief," she said softly. "Thank you... for earlier."

I looked at her but couldn’t understand why the pain and sorrow I had been drowning in just a few minutes ago vanished the mont I saw her, why I felt this was a sign from Olivia telling she was still out there sowhere, waiting for to find her.