Fated To Not Just One But Three novel Chapter 479

Chapter 479: The Decision

Levi’s POV

"Fine?" I barked, the sound cracking. I didn’t mean for the word to come out so harsh, but there it was, the animal in my throat exposed. Olivia’s eyes flicked toward me, a sliver of confusion cutting through fatigue. "Levi," she began. "No," I said, hard and faster than reason. "You are not fine." She tried to sit up, a stubborn, familiar motion, but Louis caught her shoulders and pushed her gently back. "Don’t move," he said.

I couldn’t hold the controlled calm any longer. I stalked around to the foot of the bed and leaned over her, close enough that she could see every notch of anger and fear carved across my face. "You could have died," I told her. The words were blunt, but they were the truth beating at me. "Do you hear me? You could have died. You would have taken that baby with you. You would have left us with less than empty hands."

Tears welled in her eyes, not just from the physical pain, but from the way my voice was loud and full of anger. "I’m trying to save him," she whispered. "I can’t let him go. I can’t—"

"Save him?" I shoved the idea back like a poisoned thing. "What you tried to do tonight was gamble with two lives. Your life. The child’s life. Our lives. You didn’t just try to bring somebody back; you damn near destroyed the only life that recently started inside you."

Her jaw trembled. "We can’t give up on him."

"And you think I don’t love him?" I snapped. "You think I want him dead? You think I don’t sit with him every night and listen to his breath and curse the world for what happened to him? Do you think I wanted any of this? Do you think I wanted to be the kind of man who stands across from you and tells you to stop? I would pick you every time. I would choose this family over a ghost. But you, you risk everything because you cannot bear the thought of being without him."

She flinched at my words, as if each one had a physical edge. I hated how she looked when I hurt her, and still I couldn’t take the fury back. "I’m sorry," she whispered. "But I couldn’t just—"

"You couldn’t just what?" I demanded, my voice breaking on the last word. "You couldn’t just stop? You couldn’t just listen to the hands trying to save you from yourself? You chose him. Again. Even with the child inside you."

Her eyes looks exhausted and she looked small, smaller than I’d ever seen her. "I’m sorry," she said, ragged. "I’m sorry I keep hurting you."

"Sorry doesn’t fix bone and blood," I said, softer now, the explosion of my anger burning until I was raw. "Sorry doesn’t undo the fear. Sorry doesn’t answer for the nights I sat up worrying I’d lose you too."

For a beat, the room held only our breathing. Then she reached, trembling, and laid her hand on my wrist. "Forgive me," she whispered. I wanted to lean in and take her into my arms and erase the fear with a kiss, to promise her I would do anything to keep her safe. Instead I let out a long, ragged breath and closed my eyes.

"Don’t do this again," I said finally, my voice hoarse. "You hear me? For the child’s sake, for all our sakes." She nodded, faint and hollow, but nodded.

The healer adjusted the blanket, murmured more soft instructions, and the witch offered one more small spell. Louis sat back on the edge of the bed and put his forehead to the back of her hand as if he couldn’t quite breathe without that contact. Outside, the night kept its cold vigil.

Inside the room, I sat on the floor by the bed and watched her sleep, anger still burning at my edges but replaced, in slow measure, with a fierce, fierce love that made me ache. I had exploded, I had frightened her, but I would not have her die trying to prove a point to ghosts.

If this was to be the long war ahead of us, between grief and life, between past and present, then I would stand on the line and fight. Even if it meant she would hate me for the rest of her days for stopping her. Even if I had to be the villain in her story to keep her and our child breathing.

For hours we remained in the room, watching her sleep until an idea came to my head. An idea that would be disastrous but was for the best. "Louis," I whispered to Louis through the mind link.

Louis lifted his head the moment my voice brushed through the link. His gaze darted toward me from where he sat, still holding Olivia’s hand. The fatigue on his face mirrored mine: dark circles beneath his eyes, shoulders weighed down by everything we were both trying to hold together.

"Come," I said quietly. "We need to talk."

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