Reborn: The Duke's Obsession
Chapter 95 - Ninety Five

Chapter 95: Chapter Ninety Five

Delia gave a small, almost slight nod. It was all the permission he needed. The dark clouds on the horizon continued to roll in, and the wind began to pick up, whipping stray strands of her hair across her face.

Eric let out a long, slow sigh, as if releasing a breath he had been holding for years. "When I was a little boy," he began, his voice quiet, his gaze fixed on the churning grey ocean, "I went to our family’s sprawling country estate with my father and my brother, Philip. Our father was busy that day, meeting with other nobles who had come to visit. Philip, who was older and always easily bored, suggested we play a game of hide-and-seek to pass the time."

He paused, a shadow passing over his features as he went deeper into the memory. "As naughty, adventurous boys often do, we went to the back of the stables, where we weren’t supposed to be. Philip pushed me inside one of the old, rarely used stalls. It was dark and smelled of dust and old hay. He told me to close my eyes and count to ten while he went to hide. So I did. I began to count... one... two... eight... nine... but before I could get to ten, I heard someone slam the heavy wooden door shut. I heard the sound of a thick, rusty bolt sliding into place, locking me in from the outside."

Delia listened, her expression a mixture of sympathy and a dawning unease.

"I didn’t know it at the time," Eric continued, his voice now a low murmur, "but one of the older, more skittish horses, a stallion named Kian, had been moved into the adjacent stall just a few days before. He had a minor injury and was particularly agitated that day. The stable hands had temporarily left a second, lighter bolt on Kian’s stall door, a bolt that was known to sometimes slip under pressure."

"I started to scream, frantically trying to open the door of the dark, hay-scented enclosure. Kian, startled by the loud noise and feeling the vibrations through the thin wooden wall, began to kick violently against his own stall door. The lighter bolt on his door couldn’t hold. It gave way with a loud crack."

"Kian, now free and completely panicked, burst out of his stall. The force of his escape, his wild kicking, broke the rusty old lock on my own door. But I was just a little boy. I was terrified. I was afraid to come out. Just then, Philip came back, looking for me. He was suddenly confronted with a bolting, terrified horse. In his shock, he tripped and fell right in its path. The horse, just trying to get away, clipped Philip’s leg as it galloped past him. He fell awkwardly and twisted his knee. I watched the whole thing happen from the crack in my stall door."

He finally turned to look at her, his eyes filled with a deep, profound pain. "It was an accident, Delia. I swear it was. Then, as if the world wanted to make the day even more terrible, it started to rain. Philip was outside, unconscious on the ground with a broken leg, and I was inside, frozen, drowning in a guilt so heavy I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even make myself go to him, touch him, or drag him inside out of the rain. I just huddled there and started hearing voices in my head, a child’s terrible fantasy, saying that I had killed my brother."

He stood up from the bench, needing to move. He began to walk slowly along the beach, and Delia stood and walked beside him.

"The stable hands quickly secured Kian," he narrated, his gaze on the wet sand. "And, hearing my muffled cries, they rushed to open the broken lock of my stall. I emerged, hyperventilating and terrified, covered in hay and dust. Some of them took Philip to my father. That was the first time my father ever slapped me. I told him it was an accident, that I didn’t do it, but he didn’t believe me. The doctor said Philip was fine, that he would recover, but that he might not be able to walk properly ever again."

They walked in silence for a while, the only sound the crashing of the waves on the shore. "Is that so?" Delia finally asked, her voice soft.

"Yes," Eric replied. "And after that incident, my brother never let me forget it. He would constantly remind me of how I was still living in that house after I had tried to kill him. It became impossible to live there. So, I left the Carson mansion. I left the family business. I built my own life just to get away from him."

Delia stopped walking, a look of dawning horror and guilt on her own face. The secret meeting at the inn, the rain, the stables nearby... it was all a deliberate, cruel setup. "You didn’t have to come," she said, her voice full of regret. "To the inn that night. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have agreed to meet him."

Eric, confused by her sudden guilt, asked, "What?"

"That night," she explained, "the night His Grace, your brother, told me to meet him at the Old Post Inn. It was raining then, too. He chose that place on purpose, didn’t he? To hurt you. And now this, here."

Eric’s expression softened. He reached out and took her hand, his thumb gently stroking her skin. "I’m doing better now, Delia. You can ask Lady Blair. The panic attack I had that night... it wasn’t just because of the rain or the memories. It was because I was worried that you were in danger. Philip’s letter was a threat against you, and I lost myself because I was afraid for you."

"It must have been so painful for you," Delia said, her heart aching for the little boy who had been trapped in that dark stall.

"I don’t know," Eric replied, his gaze now fixed on her, his expression full of a raw, vulnerable sincerity she had never seen before. "That’s not what actually pains me, or scares me, anymore."

He stopped walking and turned to face her, the wind whipping their hair around them. "It’s you ignoring me," he confessed, his voice a low, intense murmur. "It’s you pushing me away, telling me to respect the boundaries of our contract. That is the thing that truly hurts."