Luelle
Peeking through the gap in the door of the tin pantry, Luelle pressed her back against the wall, enveloped in the scent of spices and canned goods She watched Ethan. He walked with heavy steps, shoulders stooped — a weary silhouette worn down by the weight of his responsibilities.
She had witnessed this before, the way he shed his façade when alone, and here, in his quiet apartment, the masks slipped away. In this space, she could feel the raw weight of everything he carried, a burden that pressed down on him more heavily than usual.
He reached for the bottle of wine on the counter, pouring just enough to coat the bottom of the glass. Then she watched him retrieve a small vial from the drawer — a sedative, the kind he rarely took. It wasn't strong, just enough to ease the relentless churn of thoughts that haunted him, offering a fleeting escape into sleep.
Her heart ached as she pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the familiar pang of overwhelming love, an ache that consumed her. She could sense his pain, a palpable presence, and the helplessness of knowing she could do nothing to alleviate it.
Ethan quickly drank the wine in small, measured sips, the sedative swirling into the deep red liquid. He paused, staring at the empty glass before placing it in the sink, his movements slow and deliberate, as if each action required effort.
Luelle remained perfectly still, her breath barely a whisper as she listened to him retreat to the bedroom. She remained in the pantry, counting his footsteps, waiting for the soft creaking of his mattress as he lay down.
The sedative soon worked its magic, deepening his breaths, granting him the comfort of slumber. And then, quietly, as if drawn by an invisible thread, she slipped through the concealed entry in the pantry wall and into his apartment. Her steps were practiced, smooth, the floor yielding to her weight as she moved into his room.
Ethan lay there, his face softened by the dim light, unburdened for the moment from the tension that defined him by day. If she dared to look at him, Luelle knew her heart would shatter, and she instinctively pulled her fingers against the fabric of her jacket.
She loved him. More than anything. More than she should.
This love consumed her, overpowering her — dictating every decision she made, every risk she took. She had woven her entire existence around him, constructing a life devoted to watching over him, to keeping him safe, to remaining close even as shadows cloaked her presence.
Her father's voice echoed in her mind, a constant reminder of the orders she had been given that afternoon. "Stay away from Ethan. Let him do his job as leader. He doesn't need your meddling."
But how could she stay away? How could she sever herself from the one who meant everything to her?
Slowly, deliberately, she sank into a chair beside his bed. The worn leather creaked gently under her weight, yet Ethan remained still, the sedative lulling him into a cocoon of quiet. She studied his face, her heart heavy with the memory of the ball her father told her about — the event where Ethan would meet the women chosen for him by the Dominion, where he would select his future bride.
The thought coiled into a knot of ice in her gut, a bitter ache that stabbed at her heart. She wasn't meant to be part of his world like that. She belonged to the shadows, unseen and unacknowledged.
She exhaled softly, reflecting on all the paths that had led her to this moment, hidden in the dim corners of his room. The secret door had been a solution to a problem that could have easily gone unnoticed. Yet the true challenge lay in finding ways to keep Ethan safe in ways the Dominion's sentries could not, in ways no one else would ever think to consider.
She had installed the door soon after purchasing the apartment next to his, a place she acquired under the guise of a charming, elderly man, "Gerard Aptos."
Months of careful planning and execution had gone into her deception. "Gerard" was gruff and stooped, his skin aged with the help of prosthetics and makeup. Oversized spectacles perched on his nose, their magnifying glare concealing her sharp, wide-awake eyes. When she spoke, she transformed her voice, lowering it to a gravelly, tired timbre that suited a hermit who preferred solitude.
It was a perfect disguise. To the building staff, to Ethan, to anyone else in the Dominion checking in, she was just another ordinary neighbour.
But it wasn't just the disguise that mattered; it was the hidden entrance that truly mattered.
The building's upper level consisted solely of Ethan's expansive apartment and "Gerard's" modest dwelling. She had seized that opportunity, using her skills and resources to create a secret access point undetectable between the two apartments. Nestled within her pantry, a narrow, soundproof passageway ran through the walls and directly into the kitchen pantry of the man who she loves more than anything: Ethan.
It was not an easy undertaking, but it was a necessary one. She had to wait until Ethan left on a business trip to execute the renovations. "Gerard" had requested permission from the building administrators to repair a "crack" in his apartment's wall. No one noticed the demolition debris that quietly vanished. A few times, she even slipped into Ethan's apartment through his balcony, ensuring nothing amiss occurred during the renovations. She meticulously examined the pantry to ensure no one would detect the subtle changes.
The concealed entrance was her lifeline, a way to slip into his apartment when necessary. Sometimes, she would use it after returning from a mission, seeking solace in his proximity. Other times, she simply longed to be near him.
It broke her heart to see him like this. To her, Ethan wasn't just the heir to the Dominion. He wasn't the symbol the world aspired to be, the leader-in-waiting burdened by generations of expectation. To her, he was simply Ethan, the man she adored.
Luelle's thoughts are interrupted by a sound from his bed. The signs of his inner turmoil were subtle at first: the slight twitch of his brow, a hitch in his breathing, as if he were grappling with an invisible force. His fingers curled into the blankets, tensing against the fabric, shoulders rigid as nightmares clawed at him.
Luelle's heart constricted, an aching pull that urged her to her feet, driven by instinct. She had witnessed this many times before. The nightmares attacking him as soon as he let his guard down.
She crept closer, steps soundless, rehearsed. His breaths grew ragged, quickened, his face contorting in the grip of dreams that tormented him. Gently, she reached out, her fingertips brushing against his before she allowed herself to give in.
Her fingers skimmed his, and then she took his hand in hers, gripping it tightly as if to anchor him to her presence.
"Ethan," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.
His skin, warm against hers, steadied something within her, grounding him as much as it did her. She watched as his fingers tightened around hers, his subconscious seeking the refuge she offered, even if he didn't realize it was her. His breathing eased momentarily, muscles loosening little by little.
This wasn't the first time she had done this. Countless times she had extended this comfort. It wasn't much, but she knew it helped. In the silence of the room, even the simple act of holding his hand calmed his descent into darkness.
Now, Luelle sat beside him, her gaze fixed on his serene face. She whispered gentle reassurances a soothing rhythm she hoped would reach him in the depths of his troubled dreams.
She wasn't sure whether he would remember any of it. He never had before. But that didn't matter.
She stayed because she loved him. She stayed because it was the only way she knew to comfort him. She stayed because she could not imagine herself anywhere else, not when her heart belonged to him, aching with a longing that refused to fade.