Ethan
News of Venecia, Romeo, Liana, and Damien spread through campus like wildfire. But me? I wasn't surprised. I knew it would come to this. It always does. In every lifetime, she chooses to run away with him. Always.
"Brr... brr... brrr."
My phone buzzed against the nightstand. I scowled at the screen. Who the hell is calling me at this hour? Then I saw the name. And I couldn't help but chuckle.
"What?" I answered. "Why are you calling me?"
"Rude as always," Eleanor sighed. "I called about the runaway lovers."
"So?"
"So? So?! Is that all you can say?" Her voice sharpened. "Ethan, this is our chance to take back what's ours."
"And what's the plan, Eleanor?" I drawled, feigning boredom.
"We track them. They can't have gone far. Once we find them, we'll tell their parents. Simple." There was an eager edge to her tone.
I smirked. Eleanor isn't joking this lifetime. Neither am I. For the past week, I've been hunting them in secret. And now, I'm this close. Since Eleanor brought it up, maybe it's time to let her in on my progress.
"Good plan," I admitted. "But I was already working on it."
Silence. Then—
"What?! Why didn't you tell me sooner?!"
I laughed. "I wanted you to have your little moment to shine." "Ugh. Whatever. Let's meet up and discuss this further. I'm tired."
"Geez, alright, alright. Good night," she muttered.
"Night," I replied coldly before ending the call.
I rose from my bed and walked toward the board on my wall. Photographs of Venecia covered it—this life and all the ones before. Each pinned with notes, dates, and connections only I understood. I dragged my fingers over her latest picture. Venecia. Mine. Always. But Romeo? He's the stain in this perfect picture. The thorn in my side. The mistake that keeps repeating. The thought of him near her again ignited something dark inside me. But I can't kill him just yet. Not yet. I have to take my time. I have to make this right. I exhaled slowly, pressing my forehead against the board.
"I'll find you, Venecia. And this time... you won't run away. Enjoy these last fleeting days with him while you still can."
Eleanor
I ended the call, but my fingers lingered on the phone. My heart pounded—not in fear, not in excitement, but in anticipation.
Finally.
I moved to my vanity, tracing the silver bracelet on my wrist—the one he had given me lifetimes ago. Romeo. My Romeo. He was always meant to be mine. But she stole him. Again. I exhaled slowly, forcing down the fire building in my chest. No use letting rage consume me when there was work to be done. I had played this game long enough. This time, I wasn't going to be the fool left behind, watching them run into the sunset. This time, I would win. Grabbing my coat, I stepped into the night. The cool air did little to calm the heat crawling up my spine. Ethan was right. They couldn't have gone far. They were running on borrowed time.
******
The church was quiet when I arrived. Dim. Hollow. Empty. The candlelight flickered against the stone walls, casting shadows in every direction. And in the middle of it all—Ethan. His back was to me, eyes trained on something in his hands. "Tell me," I said, stepping forward. "How close are we?" He smirked, turning slightly. "Closer than they think." A thrill ran down my spine. Good. I moved toward him, letting my fingers graze the back of one of the wooden pews. "And when we find them?" I asked softly. Ethan tilted his head, watching me. "We do what we should have done long ago." I smiled. Venecia had taken what was mine for the last time.
The hunt was on.
*******
Few days later......
Ethan
The grand estate loomed before me, bathed in the glow of the afternoon sun. I had been here before—many lifetimes ago. The towering gates, the perfectly trimmed hedges, the marble steps leading up to the entrance. Magnificent as always. I straightened my collar, adopting the look of a concerned friend, a brotherly figure who only wanted what was best for dear, reckless Venecia. What a lie. The door opened, and there stood her mother—stern, elegant, and wary.
"Ethan?" she asked, surprised. "It's been a while."
I nodded, my face painted with just the right amount of sadness. "I wish I were visiting under better circumstances." Her eyes darkened, her grip tightening on the door. "Come in." The living room smelled of roses, just as I remembered. I took a seat across from them—Venecia's parents. Her father's sharp gaze dissected me in silence, waiting.
I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face for effect. "I tried to stop her," I began, voice heavy with fabricated regret. "I really did. But she wouldn't listen. She ran away with him."
Silence. Then, a slow, sharp inhale from her mother.
"Where?" Her father's voice was low, controlled, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him.
I met his eyes, watching the fire ignite. Perfect.
"A small town in the woods, not too far from here," I said carefully. "They think they're safe." I leaned forward slightly. "But we both know they're not."
Venecia's mother clenched her fists.
Her father stood.
The storm had begun.
*******
Eleanor
Romeo's home was quieter than I expected. It always had an air of stillness, as though time itself hesitated to disturb it. But tonight, I could sense something simmering beneath the surface. A wound waiting to be reopened. His father sat stiffly in his chair, his mother beside him, her eyes scanning me as if searching for answers. I could almost taste the bitterness in the air.
I smiled softly. "I know where he is."
His mother inhaled sharply, eyes flickering with something between hope and dread. His father, however, remained cold, unreadable.
"I thought you should know," I continued, folding my hands neatly in my lap. "He's with her." I didn't need to say her name. It was enough to watch the disgust curl at the edges of his lips.
A pause. Then, his father leaned forward. "Where?"
Hook. Line. Sinker.
I feigned hesitation, letting the moment stretch just enough. "I debated telling you," I murmured, letting my voice waver. "But I couldn't sit back and watch him throw his life away. Not again."
His mother swallowed hard. His father clenched his jaw.
I had them.
I reached into my coat pocket and slid a small note across the table. "This is where they are."
His father picked it up, reading in silence. Then, slowly, he set it down.
"This ends now," he said.
I smiled.
*********************
Hook. Line. Sinker.