Fated To Not Just One, But Three-Chapter 61: Who?

Chapter 61: Who?

Louis POV

I sighed and forced myself to sleep. In my dream, I saw her—she haunted my sleep with her face and memories.

The next morning, I woke up from the ray of sunlight reflecting through the curtains.

I forced myself up and sat up on the bed.

I hadn't slept. Not one bit.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. Heard her. Felt her.

I hated this. I hated feeling this attached, this exposed again. I was supposed to continue hating her.

My wolf was silent now, probably sick of arguing with me. But the silence was worse. It made me feel alone in this storm of emotion. Alone… and guilty.

I thought of my brothers, Lennox and Levi.

How was I going to face them after this?

I walked over to the window, pulling the curtains aside and staring out at the combat ground where the morning sun was slowly rising, painting the world in gold. I used to love this time of day. Now it just felt… tainted.

Because of her.

I clenched my jaw, trying to bury the ache in my chest. But the more I tried to bury it, the heavier it grew. I wanted her back in my bed. I wanted to pretend she didn't say those words she said four years ago. I wanted to forget that she hurt me deeply.

I wanted her again. And fuck me, that scared the hell out of me.

I padded toward the bathroom like a zombie. Stripped off what little clothes I still had on and stepped into the shower, turning the knob until the water was ice cold. I needed to cool down, to numb myself, to drown the memory of Olivia's skin against mine.

But as the water ran down my body, her scent still lingered.

It clung to me like a second skin—soft, warm, maddening. I scrubbed harder, as if I could erase what happened between us, as if I could erase the way she made me feel.

When I was done, I stepped out and dried off quickly. Tossed on a pair of black joggers and a loose grey shirt—nothing too formal. I wasn't in the mood for anything flashy. My hair was still damp as I raked my fingers through it and stared at myself in the mirror.

I looked like shit.

Not physically—I still looked like me. But my eyes… they gave me away. The turmoil. The confusion. The damn need.

I needed to breathe.

Grabbing my phone and sliding it into my pocket, I walked toward the door, but paused just as my hand touched the knob.

The dining table.

She'd be there.

She'd sit there, probably eating strawberries and acting like we didn't just have a pleasurable night, like we didn't scream each other's name…

I couldn't see her… at least not now.

My pride wouldn't survive that.

I turned away from the hallway that led to the dining room and headed toward the combat ground instead. That was where I needed to be—somewhere I could hit things, sweat out the madness, and pretend I was still in control.

Arriving at the combat ground, I met a few warriors who had already arrived for today's training. They were surprised to see me this early, but I didn't care. Rather, I nodded to their greetings and made my way to the punching bag.

I didn't bother to wear gloves; rather, I punched with my fists.

My first punch landed hard—solid, satisfying.

Then another.

And another.

Until I was throwing hits like I was trying to break something inside of me. Maybe I was.

Each hit echoed with memories.

Her moan.

Smack.

Her eyes as she pushed me away.

Smack.

"You should leave."

Smack.

My fists moved faster, slamming into the bag until my knuckles ached. My breath came out ragged, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. I needed to keep going until the pain inside me made sense, until it had a name, until it—

"Louis," a familiar voice called behind me.

I froze mid-punch. My chest heaved with exertion.

"Louis, can you explain to me what the hell is going on?"

I turned slowly, heart thudding harder than it had during the entire workout.

There he was—Levi—standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, brows furrowed, and his eyes… full of questions and suspicion.

I swallowed hard, wiping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. "It's nothing, Levi."

He stepped closer, blocking my path when I tried to walk past him.

"I'm not in the mood—" I muttered, brushing his shoulder, but he didn't budge.

"Don't give me that shit, Louis," he snapped, grabbing my arm and spinning me around to face him. Before I could react, he caught my wrist tight and yanked me closer. "Look at me."

I did.

His eyes scanned my face—every inch of it. There was no hiding from him. Not when he looked at me like that, like he could see through every layer I tried to keep hidden. Then his gaze dropped lower—to my neck.

His expression shifted instantly. Darkened. Hardened.

His frown deepened, his jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed at me with sharp intensity.

"Why the hell are there finger marks on your neck?" he asked, voice low, steady… but laced with suspicion, with the kind of knowing only a brother could carry.

I stiffened. My pulse jumped. The silence stretched, loud and thick between us.

I didn't answer. Couldn't.

He stepped even closer, his presence now overwhelming, suffocating. His gaze sharpened as he studied me, like he was putting together pieces of a puzzle he didn't like the look of.

"Who was it?" he asked again, slower this time, like he wanted to make sure I felt every word. "Who's the woman you fucked?"

His words were razor-sharp. Not out of judgment—but disbelief. Worry. Maybe even fear.

My heart slammed against my chest. I felt exposed, cornered, like he had just cracked something open in me, I wasn't ready to face. I yanked my wrist back, desperate to escape the moment, to run from this confrontation.

But Levi didn't back down. His grip on my wrist tightened. "Don't do that. Don't run. Not from me."