Ch. 49 – I Trust You

Rhys stood in the quiet entryway, his forehead resting against the cool, solid oak of the front door long after the sound of Shula’s car engine faded into the suburban distance. Inside his chest, a storm of silent, blinding fury raged. He was fuming, his breath coming in tight, shallow hitches.

He couldn’t make sense of it. He couldn’t process the terrifying, distorted doppelgängers that seemed to have replaced the two people he had known for nearly a decade. Darius—his brother-in-arms, his anchor during the darkest years of the galactic campaign—had sat on his couch like a hollow shell. Rhys flashed back to the blood-soaked dirt of outer-colony trenches, remembering the deafening roar of plasma fire and the smell of ozone. Darius was the one man Rhys trusted implicitly to watch his back, a warrior who had taken high-caliber ordinance for him without a second thought, just as Rhys had taken blows intended for Darius. Yet minutes ago, that same formidable hero had sat there with the defeated, hollow gaze of a man who had surrendered his autonomy to his wife’s unyielding obsession years ago.

With heavy, forceful strides, Rhys stamped back into the kitchen, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor.

Lira was sitting at the kitchen island, her hands folded in her lap, her head bowed. The proud, radiant heroine Astraea looked completely gone, replaced by a weary woman slumped under the crushing weight of an exhausting, impossible battle. The long, defensive siege she had fought alone before Rhys got home had drained every ounce of her strength.

A sharp, conflicting ache stabbed through Rhys’s gut. He was furious, but seeing her looking so utterly defeated made his anger war violently with his protective instincts. He took a slow, grounding breath, stepping into her line of sight.

“Why didn’t you ask me, Lira?” Rhys asked softly, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to keep it steady. “When she first called you months ago... why didn’t you come to me?”

Lira couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. She stared down at her trembling hands, and as the full, terrifying realization of what her innocent compassion had set in motion hit her, a single, choked sob broke from her throat. Tears spilled over her lashes, tracking down her flushed cheeks.

The tough, defensive shell around Rhys’s heart shattered instantly. All his lingering anger evaporated, replaced by a profound, aching tenderness. He stepped forward, pulling her up from the stool and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her small, trembling frame tightly into his chest. He smoothed her hair with one hand, kissing the crown of her head as she buried her face in his shoulder, her quiet sobs dampening his shirt.

When her breathing finally slowed and she gathered herself, Lira looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with genuine remorse.

“I’m so sorry, Rhys,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I... I truly thought nothing of it at the time. When she called crying, I just saw a friend in deep pain. I never dreamed it would turn into... into this nightmare. I should have talked to you first.”

Rhys’s heart squeezed with a painful, suffocating guilt. He couldn’t stand seeing her suffer like this, especially when he knew, deep down, that in her shoes—guided by pure empathy and a desire to help a suffering friend—he likely would have made the exact same misstep.

He framed her face with his hands, leaning down to press a deep, soft, lingering kiss against her lips, tasting the salt of her tears. “I understand,” he murmured against her skin, pulling back to look into her eyes. “I know your heart, Lira. We’re going to figure this out together. I promise.”

Lira offered a small, fragile smile, her eyes shining with relief. “Thank you... thank you for forgiving me, Rhys. I was so afraid you’d be angry.” She paused, her expression turning earnest. “But... you know the choice is ultimately yours, right? It’s your decision.”

Rhys blinked, taken aback. A furrow formed between his brows. “What do you mean? Lira, we’re a team. I would never make a decision like this without us being in complete agreement. I’d never go against your choice.”

“No, of course not, Rhys,” Lira said quickly, reaching up to gently touch his cheek. She looked at him with an absolute, unshakeable devotion that shone like a beacon. “I doubt you ever could. I trust you completely.”

I trust you completely.

The words echoed in Rhys’s head like a physical blow. The moment the sentence left her lips, a cold, ruthless devil perched on his shoulder seemed to chuckle, gleefully clocking in for a late-night shift in his conscience. Suddenly, an unwanted, horrifying montage flashed across the back of Rhys’s eyelids: Rhea’s golden skin under the dim bedroom light, the frantic, hushed moans in the neighbor’s house, the lies spoken to Durin’s face, Ariadne crouching under the dining table, Vespera’s dangerous, purring threats.

A sickening wave of self-loathing and hypocrisy washed over him, turning his stomach to ice. He was standing here, wrapped in the pure, unblemished love of his devoted wife, while carrying the heavy, rotting secrets of his recent sins. He forced his facial muscles to remain still, desperately shoving the guilt into the darkest, deepest corner of his mind before it could show on his face.

“That’s... that’s why I waited for you to get home before giving them a firm answer,” Lira continued, blissfully unaware of the psychological war raging inside her husband. “I was waiting for you to handle it.”

Rhys paused, realizing something crucial. He had been so caught up in defending their marriage that he hadn’t actually asked for her internal perspective on the core issue.

“Lira...” Rhys began slowly, his tone cautious. “Honey... what did you actually tell them when they asked you directly today? Before I walked through the door?”

A deep, rosy flush crept up Lira’s neck, spreading across her cheeks. She looked down, nervously fidgeting with the ring on her finger.