Page 88 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
Selene’s stomach churns.
He’s known all along what the Duke is capable of.
She stares at Dorian, her fingers curling into fists. “You made me think I was an idiot for believing something was amiss there.”
Dorian’s face tenses. “I was hoping to make you think you were safe.”
Safe. As if ignorance is the same as protection. As if keeping her blind was some kind of kindness.
Selene’s pulse pounds in her ears. “This is why you married me, isn’t it?” Her voice is unsteady, but the words strike like steel. “You knew what the Duke was planning. If you married me—”
“In part,” Dorian admits. “But… that wasn’t the only reason. I truly didn’t want to see you marry that man.”
It should soften the blow, but it doesn’t.
Selene laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “You’re just like him,” she snaps. “You, the Duke, my father—everyone keeping me in the dark, deciding my life for me, controlling me for your own ends—”
She hears herself, hears the sharpness in her voice, but she can’t stop. A part of her knows Dorian isn’t like them, not truly. She knows he cares for her, even if he won’t say it outright. She knows his intentions are noble.
But none of that matters right now.
Right now, all she can think about is how exhausted she is—of secrets, of lies, of men thinking they know what’s best for her.
“Selene—” Dorian reaches out.
“Get away from me!”
She marches away from him, back to her own room. Dorian steps towards her, but dissolves into another coughing fit. The door slams shut between them.
It feels like something else is slamming shut, too. Some faint hope that Selene had of everything being fine, of Dorian liking her back.
Of them being a real couple. A real family.
She gathers Mistress Stripe in her arms and sobs into her fur.
She should have known better than to believe in happy endings.
Sleep does not come easily.
Selene lies awake long after the house has gone quiet, her mind circling the same thoughts over and over. Dorian had hidden the truth from her—not out of malice, not to manipulate her, but because he thought it was the right thing to do. That should make it easier to accept. It doesn’t.
She doesn’t know how to reconcile the man she’s come to know with the one who has been plotting in the shadows all these years. He’s careful and calculating in a way she didn’t expect him to be. A man who keeps secrets as a matter of survival. But he’s also the man who has sat across from her night after night, letting her win at chess, bringing her books, coming into her room despite his allergies.
Which version of him is real?
Perhaps both. Perhaps neither.
By morning, she’s still no closer to an answer.
Breakfast is a muted affair. The others chatter quietly, but Selene barely hears them. Dorian makes an appearance—apparently quite recovered from his ordeal. He looks well, considering the night before, though there’s a carefulness to him, a guardedness in the way he carries himself.
They don’t speak beyond the necessary courtesies.
When breakfast ends, Dorian rises first. He nods to the others, offers a polite farewell, and leaves.
Selene watches him go, her stomach twisting. A moment later, she stands as well.
She follows him up to his study, hesitating for only a second before knocking.
