Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 364: The Hidden Widow (2) The Building Suspense

Chapter 364: The Hidden Widow (2) The Building Suspense

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," Lyan said gently, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it. His large, calloused hand held her son’s tiny one, and for a moment, the tension in the air seemed to ease. Clarisse looked down at the small scene unfolding in front of her—Lyan, this powerful, commanding man who had brought armies to their knees, now standing here with her son, offering him warmth and tenderness. It was hard to reconcile this image with the man she had resented for so long.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she adjusted her grip on her child. "I just... I didn’t ask for any of this," she murmured, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable than she wanted it to be. "I didn’t ask to be a widow. I didn’t ask for my son to grow up without a father."

Lyan nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "I know. Life has a way of forcing us into things we never asked for."

There was a moment of silence between them, the weight of unspoken emotions filling the space. Clarisse’s heart ached with the complexity of it all—the grief, the anger, and the strange pull she felt toward Lyan despite everything. He had taken her husband’s life, but here he was, making sure her son was safe, showing more care than she could have ever imagined from a man like him.

She glanced up at him, studying his face. His dark eyes were focused, intense, but there was something else there too—something softer, more human. She could see the edges of weariness in the lines around his eyes, the way his mouth pulled into a faint frown when he wasn’t speaking. He looked like a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it made her wonder just how much he had been through. She didn’t want to admit it, but in that moment, she felt a strange sense of connection to him. They were both survivors of a life they hadn’t chosen, both trying to make sense of the pieces left behind.

"You visit us often," Clarisse said, her voice hesitant. "You don’t have to... but you keep coming back."

Lyan shifted slightly, his hand still resting on her son’s tiny fingers. He met her gaze with a steady look, though she could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "It’s my responsibility. Your husband and father-in-law... they may have been on the wrong side of this war, but that doesn’t mean you and your son should suffer for their mistakes."

Clarisse’s heart clenched at his words. It was true, of course. Lucan and Hektor had made terrible decisions, decisions that had led to their downfall. But that didn’t make it any easier for her. "So you’re doing this out of guilt?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended. "Because you killed Lucan?"

Lyan’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought she had struck a nerve. But then he sighed, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "Maybe guilt is part of it," he admitted. "But it’s more than that. Your son... he didn’t choose this life either. And I won’t let him grow up without protection. I won’t let you suffer more than you already have."

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Clarisse felt a lump rise in her throat as she tried to process the strange mix of emotions swirling inside her. Anger, gratitude, sorrow... and something else. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge but couldn’t seem to ignore.

She glanced down at her son, who was now babbling happily, oblivious to the tension between the two adults. The sight of him, so innocent and unaware, made her heart ache. He deserved so much more than this—more than the uncertainty, more than the weight of his father’s legacy. And in some strange way, Lyan had become a part of their lives, whether she liked it or not.

"I’m angry, Lyan," she said quietly, her voice trembling. "I’m angry that Lucan is gone. I’m angry that Hektor was a coward. And I’m angry that... that you’re the one who’s still here."

Lyan’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes flickered with something—something she couldn’t quite place. "I know," he said simply.

Clarisse took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "But at the same time... I don’t know how to feel about you. You killed my husband, and I should hate you for that. But you’ve been here, looking after us, making sure we’re safe. You’ve been... kind. And I don’t know what to do with that."

Lyan was silent for a moment, his gaze unwavering as he looked at her. "You don’t have to feel anything right now," he said finally. "This isn’t something that can be resolved overnight. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even expect you to like me. But I’ll keep coming back, Clarisse. Because your son deserves it. And maybe... maybe one day, you’ll see that I’m not the enemy you think I am."

Clarisse’s heart thudded in her chest, and for a moment, she felt a wave of confusion and frustration wash over her. She wanted to yell at him, to push him away, to tell him that he was wrong, that she would never see him as anything other than the man who took Lucan from her. But she couldn’t. Because deep down, a part of her knew that Lyan was right.

She looked away, her eyes focusing on the floor as she tried to compose herself. "I don’t know if I can ever forgive you," she whispered.

Lyan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. The gesture was small, but it was enough to make her look up at him. His touch was warm, steady, and despite herself, Clarisse felt a strange sense of comfort in it.

"You don’t have to forgive me," Lyan said softly. "Just take care of your son. That’s all that matters."

For a moment, neither of them said anything. They just stood there, the quiet tension between them softening into something more ambiguous, something neither of them could quite define. Clarisse’s chest tightened as she looked at him, her emotions swirling in a confusing mix of anger, grief, and... attraction. She hated that she felt it, but there was no denying it now. Lyan was a man of strength, intelligence, and—despite his faults—compassion. And she was drawn to him in ways she didn’t want to admit.

Lyan, for his part, seemed just as conflicted. His sharp eyes flicked down to her once again, lingering on her form in a way that was both subtle and not-so-subtle at the same time. Clarisse could see the way his gaze drifted, just for a moment, down to her chest before he quickly looked away, pretending as though he hadn’t been staring.

"You’re doing it again," she said dryly, raising an eyebrow at him.

Lyan cleared his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I—uh, wasn’t looking."

Clarisse crossed her arms over her chest, her lips curving into a slight smirk. "You’re terrible at hiding it, you know. For a man who’s supposed to be so sharp, you’re not very good at subtlety."

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "I guess I’m not as subtle as I thought."

She couldn’t help but laugh, the sound surprising her as much as it seemed to surprise him. It was a small, fleeting moment of levity, but it was enough to break the tension between them, if only for a little while.

"You’re a pervert, Lyan," she said, shaking her head with a wry smile. "But I guess you’re an honest one."

Lyan chuckled softly, his usual confidence returning as he met her gaze. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, it’s not entirely my fault. You’re... very distracting."

Clarisse’s cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn’t shy away. Instead, she raised an eyebrow at him, her expression challenging. "Is that so?"

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Definitely."

For a moment, the air between them felt charged with something new—something that hadn’t been there before. Clarisse’s heart raced in her chest as she held his gaze, her mind spinning with the implications of what was happening. She had never expected to feel anything for Lyan, let alone this strange pull of attraction. But here it was, undeniable and confusing, all tangled up in her grief and anger.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Lyan," she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. "But this... whatever this is, it’s complicated."

"I know," he replied, his voice equally soft. "And I’m not trying to rush anything. But I’ll keep coming back, Clarisse. For you and your son."

Clarisse bit her lip, torn between her conflicting emotions. She didn’t know if she could trust him, didn’t know if she should let herself feel anything more for him. But there was a part of her—small but growing—that wanted to see where this strange connection might lead.

She exhaled slowly, her eyes softening as she looked at him. "Just... don’t make things harder than they already are."

And suddenly, it happened.

She jumped.

!!?

A kiss.