Broken Hands

132. Elizabeth Blake 2

Everything stilled as the memories crashed into him like a relentless wave. Copper-gray eyes, long ginger hair, a broken smile, and the kiss. A moment that once felt real, now twisted into something else. Something sharp.

Grayson's gut twisted painfully.

"Grayson." Her voice was laced with shock, almost disbelief. She shot up abruptly, her movements quick, almost defensive. "What—I mean, how?"

He frowned, and then the truth came slamming into him, unbidden. Hera's voice echoed in his mind like a haunting film reel, repeating over and over. Elizabeth Blake.

"Amber." He said her name softly, the weight of it settling heavily on his tongue.

She looked away, then back at him. Her black sleeveless crop top and mini skirt were different from what he remembered, but she still carried that same striking presence. Stunning. Just no ginger hair this time.

"I—" She tried to speak, but Grayson cut her off with a bitter laugh. His body, weakened and sluggish, gave out slightly, forcing him to slide down the wall for support. His movements were shaky, unsteady.

"Elizabeth Blake," he muttered, voice low and raw. "It hit me like a punch, you know." He didn't know if it was the fading effect of the drug or the sheer exhaustion of his damaged soul that made his voice sound so empty.

She frowned, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "How did you know?"

Grayson let out a hollow chuckle. "Hera. Hera. She told me," he admitted, his voice tinged with a soft bitterness, she frowned muttering a curse. "I was looking for you. Wanted you safe. I even went to your apartment against all odds. I was crazy. Stupid." His words slurred slightly, not from intoxication but from the weight of everything pressing down on him.

"You did?" Shock flickered across her face.

He nodded weakly. "I don't know why, but I did. For me, you were real. And I couldn't just let you get hurt. How could I forget? Your words, the support, the crazy love?" The words slipped out, his head lolling slightly as exhaustion crept in. He wasn't sure if it was the drugs.

Elizabeth's expression faltered, caught somewhere between guilt and something deeper.

"Ah," Grayson sucked in a breath, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "I hate being the victim, but I just can't escape it. It's like a birthright or something." He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "You played me. Drugged me. I gave you my trust, and you tore it into shreds. You were trying to kill me all along." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "I let you in, Elizabeth. And you ruined it. I've never let anybody in so fast, and you proved me right for never doing it before."

Elizabeth frowned but didn't look away. "You don't understand," she murmured. "I wasn't trying to kill you. Well... I got orders to." Her voice was quiet now, laced with something like regret. "But I just couldn't. I pushed the date for a year, then I came up with other excuses—excuses that didn't make sense. And I know I was toying with the devil, but tell that to a girl in love." The last part came out barely above a whisper, her face unreadable.

Grayson's breath stilled as she took a step forward.

"Yeah, you got me," she admitted. "I fell in love with my target. I wanted us to run away, far from here, anywhere in the world." She hesitated, her eyes darkening. "But I guess I couldn't get you out of the ball your family built around you. I thought we were the same. And yes, we are—"

"We aren't." His voice was firm, cutting through her words like a blade. She was manipulative, and he wasn't about to let her play him again.

Elizabeth studied him for a moment before nodding slightly. "You're right." Then, her lips curled into a smirk, sharp and taunting. "Our difference? You have people. And I don't." Her voice dropped, laced with something cruel as she tilted her head slightly. "Oh, but where are they now? You look bad abandoned."