THE WORLD SHE PAINTED RED |KTH(18+)

CH-74| STAY SAFE!~

He walked into the house without a word, his face carved in stone, anger simmering beneath the surface. She stood in the hallway, wanting to speak, but his silence felt heavier than any curse. He didn't even glance at her as he headed straight to his room.

The sound of the zipper tearing through the quiet made her flinch. He packed quickly, his hands moving with controlled precision, but his mind was chaos. Every shirt he folded felt like a battle between pride and love.

When his bag was ready, he stopped at the door. For a moment, he closed his eyes, drawing in a breath as if to calm the storm inside him. Then, instead of leaving, he turned and walked to her room.

She followed him with her eyes, heart pounding, but said nothing. He opened her door, stepped in, and moved toward the windows. His fingers traced the edges, checking the locks, tapping the glass. Bulletproof, as he'd ordered. Still intact. Good.

Even in anger, he couldn't ignore her safety. That was the curse of loving her—he could never turn it off.

He stood there for a second longer, his back to her, his jaw tight. Words clawed at his throat, but he swallowed them. No accusations. No explanations. Just silence.

Finally, he turned, eyes dark but softer than before. For a heartbeat, they locked with hers, and in that look, there was everything—love, frustration, the ache of distance neither of them wanted.

He walked past her without a word, picked up his bag, and headed for the door. At the threshold, he paused. "Stay safe," he said, his voice low but firm. Then he left, the door closing gently behind him this time.

He stepped outside, the night air sharp against his skin, but it wasn't enough to cool the heat in his chest. His hands curled into fists at his sides—not because he wanted to break something, but because all he wanted was to hold her and demand the truth she kept locked away.

He walked to his car slowly, forcing each step to stay measured. If he turned back now, if he looked into her eyes again, he knew he'd give in—wrap his arms around her and forget everything. And that was exactly why he couldn't.

She had to tell him. On her own. Not because he pushed. Not because his anger scared her. He wanted her trust, not her fear.

He tossed his bag into the backseat and gripped the steering wheel, leaning forward for a moment with his eyes shut. Every muscle in his body screamed to run back upstairs, but he stayed still, whispering to himself, "Talk to me, Bella. Please... just talk to me."

Finally, he started the car, his jaw tight, his heart heavier than ever. He didn't speed away—he drove slow, almost reluctant, as if leaving any faster would make the distance between them too real.

Her POV:

The silence after the door closed felt like a blade, sharp and cold. She stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty hallway, trying to breathe past the lump in her throat. He was gone.

She sank onto the edge of her bed, her eyes landing on the window—the one he had checked before leaving. That single act broke her. Even angry, even walking out on her, his first instinct had been to make sure she was safe. That was him. Always him.

Her chest ached. She pressed a trembling hand to her lips to stop the sob threatening to escape. He hadn't left because he didn't care—he left because he wanted her to speak. To finally let him in.

But how could she? The words were like thorns lodged deep inside her. Every truth she held back wasn't just hers—it was poison that could destroy him too.

She curled up on the bed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, whispering into the empty room, "I want to tell you... I just don't know how."