Let's Find a Place Where Happiness Begins - 8
Gwyn’s New Year’s resolution was simple, until a man with beautiful hazel eyes walked into her life like he belonged.
Letting him stay should have been easy. Falling for him might have been easier.
If her past wasn’t watching. Waiting. Refusing to let her go.
Part eight is up on AO3. Read it HERE or down below
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Summary: Gwyn is tired. And sad. And Angry. Part of her past catches up to her.
words: 4100 a/n: Hi again! I think this might be the longest chapter so far, and there is a lot going on at once right now, but please stick with me haha I tagged it slow-burn and I meant it.
To be honest, I am pretty nervous to see how this chapter will be received, there is definitely big reveals happening in this and there is yet more to come in the next two chapters, so buckle up friends! Shit is going down haha
As always, thank you for the love!! Please don't be afraid to share your thoughts (but pls be nice im fragile too lmao) I love wring this story and hearing from you, it's so so nice <3
As always, enjoy! <3
Azriel’s silence was slowly killing her.
Especially after Gwyn had seen him at the gym a week ago and he hadn’t even been able to look at her.
Nesta had been wrong. Azriel wasn’t busy or distracted or disappearing into himself the way Nesta insisted he always did. He was deliberately ignoring her. The realization stung far more than she had anticipated.
It had felt like a cruel joke when she’d arrived at the gym with Nesta after their chat at the cafe, only to spot both Cassian and Azriel immediately. Her friend swore she hadn’t known they’d be there, that Cassian had claimed they had important work to handle that Sunday.
“He just said he’d see me tonight, when they were done,” Nesta had promised. “He knew I was going to the gym with you and Emerie though.”
When Cassian had spotted them as well, beaming at the sight of Nesta, Gwyn hadn’t had any other option than to acknowledge them.
Even less of an option when Cassian waved them over from their spot in the corner, and Nesta had all but melted into his arms, entirely unbothered by the layer of sweat coating his skin.
Azriel had been next to him, tense and strangely aloof. His hazel eyes looked anywhere but her. The floor. His hands. The weights. Except for the one brief moment when Gwyn had plucked up her courage and uttered a measly little, ”hey.”
He’d looked at her then.
And she had almost bolted when their eyes finally met.
Gwyn still couldn’t stop replaying the awkward encounter in her head; the way he’d just barely nodded his head in greeting and averted his gaze almost immediately, like looking at her was unpleasant. Unbearable. It was painfully different from the Azriel she had gotten used to. The steady warmth she’d so closely associated with him was just... gone.
Less than a minute later, he had excused himself and retreated to the opposite side of the gym to finish his workout. It was awkward enough that even Nesta and Cassian looked after him with furrowed brows.
Cassian had tried to play it off with a simple, ”Ignore him, he’s been pissy all week.”
Nesta had given her a small smile, attempting to soften the blow, but Gwyn had seen the pity she tried to hide.
Some parts of her had just gone numb after that. It became too much all at once. Gwyn got on one of the treadmills and just ran and ran and ran. Until her legs threatened to give out and both Nesta and Emerie had to tell her to take it easy.
Another part of her had crumbled under the disappointment. The hurt—slowly suffocating her from within. It was unfair. Life was unfair. She tried so hard to stay positive, to move on and build a life. But how could she be satisfied when her past threatened to catch up with her every day and every step towards a change ended in a disaster.
She was so tired.
And sad.
Then she was angry.
Because what the fuck was Azriel’s problem? Even if he thought she was weird, he had no reason to stop talking to her and avoid her the way he did. She had thought he was different, but maybe she was wrong.
She was so tired.
And then sad again.
Then angry.
Around and around it went. The whole week after the gym incident, Gwyn’s emotions had been all over the place. One moment she was reading through their entire conversation. From that first message to the laughing emojis, trying to figure out where she had gone wrong. The next she was typing a long and harsh message, calling him all sorts of names, only to delete the entire thing and throw her phone across the room.
Other times, usually late at night when she couldn’t sleep, she’d look at the message from the unknown number instead. Gwyn had read it so many times, she wasn’t surprised she still saw it when she closed her eyes. She’d tried to look it up on every possible site she could find. Nothing. There was nothing. No name belonging to the number. No hints of who had texted her.
She’d blocked the number and then unblocked it a hundred times. Because what if the person texted her again, and explained everything and she’d been worrying for nothing. Or they texted her again and said something else that made her nightmares resurface—not knowing somehow felt worse. But so did knowing.
So Gwyn blocked the number. Then unblocked it.
“Gwyn?”
Emerie’s voice cut through the fog in her head. Gwyn blinked hard and was startled to find that the car they were in had stopped moving. Her friend stood outside and leaned over, looking back at Gwyn who was still buckled in her seat. “You coming?”
Outside, the huge art gallery spilled its golden light across the pavement—illuminating the grand entrance and the people crowding the street. Elegant dresses and expensive suits drifted past behind Emerie. All of them chattering and laughing alongside the soft music floating through the open doors. Feyre Archeron’s name gleamed across the banners hanging around the large building.
Nesta was already halfway inside.
Gwyn quickly shoved her phone deep into her purse and put on a smile, hoping neither of friends had noticed her staring at it again. Though, with her luck, she was pretty sure they had. Thankfully, neither had mentioned it during the car ride.
“Of course,” she said as she unbuckled and forced herself to move. “Sorry.”
There were a thousand other things Gwyn would rather be doing that night. Attending Nesta’s sister's new art exhibition wasn’t one of them. No, actually, that wasn’t true. She couldn’t think of anything particularly that she wanted to do. But going to an art exhibition where a bunch of rich snobs would try to outdo each other all night... That was something she most certainly wasn’t in the mood for.
Not to mention the fact that Azriel Singer would most definitely also be there.
Nesta hadn’t given her much of a choice though, saying she needed to get out and do something. It was clear both her friends had caught on to her changing moods and they were worried. Gwyn hated it.
Worrying them.
So she had agreed to come.
Truth be told, Gwyn didn’t mind the art exhibition in itself. She’d listened to Nesta boast about her sister’s talent plenty of times—Nesta would never admit she did that—and Gwyn was excited to see it. She loved art. It was just all the people. Strangers. All of them rich, successful and carrying the kind of influence and power Gwyn could only ever dream of achieving.
She felt out of place the moment she stepped inside. In her strappy blue dress that she’d found in a cute secondhand boutique a while back. She’d never had the opportunity to wear it, until now. It was flattering without being overly revealing. The perfect shade of blue against the coppery tones of her hair. She felt pretty in it at home.
Here, amongst sparkling jewelry and perfectly pressed suits, it suddenly looked as cheap as it was.
Emerie must’ve sensed her insecurity. Because she swiftly slipped her hand into Gwyn’s, giving it an encouraging squeeze.
In the same moment, Nesta reappeared with Cassian and another couple in tow. The man, dressed in an immaculate black suit, gave Gwyn an effortless beautiful smile. His deep blue eyes, almost violet, sparked with interest as he took her in. Gwyn swore she could actually see the cogs in his mind twisting and turning with intrigue.
The woman next to him looked so much like Nesta there was no doubt in her mind that it was one of her sisters. Gwyn had never met any of them before. Never had the opportunity. Or rather, had never taken the opportunities given in the past—too comfortable in the safety of her home. But judging by the dark tattoos covering her slender arms, Gwyn guessed that this was Feyre. The woman whose art exhibition she was currently attending. Which meant the striking man had to Rhysand, Cassian’s and Azriel’s other brother.
Feyre gave her a warm smile and extended her hand in Gwyn’s direction.
“Hi, you must be Gwyn. I’m Feyre,” she confirmed, shaking her hand. “It’s so good to finally meet you. Thank you for coming.”
“Oh, well, thank you for letting me come,” Gwyn replied nervously and glanced around the large room. “This is amazing.”
“I’m Rhysand,” the man said, also confirming what she had already guessed, and extended his hand. “Rhys.”
Gwyn couldn’t help but blush under his charming smile and sultry voice as she shook his hand. She realized immediately why Nesta always had such a strong opinion of her sister’s husband. They were made from the same coin. Cunning and sharp. With everything Gwyn was trying to hide—It felt dangerous standing next to both of them at once.
And she couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was about to unravel. Something in her gut had been telling her all day that something else was about to go wrong. Ever since entering the gallery, Gwyn couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. By her friends. By Rhysand. Someone else. Something.
Minutes passed by. Someone handed her a glass of champagne that she didn’t drink. Too unsettled to be able to stomach anything.
More minutes went by, and the feeling didn’t stop. It all felt wrong somehow. People came, congratulating Feyre and praising her art. Art Gwyn still hadn’t even looked at yet. Emerie and Nesta made sure to stay close to her, even though they hadn’t moved since they arrived. It didn’t ease the feeling of being watched.
“Oh, look,” Feyre announced suddenly, waving at something behind her. “Elain and Lucien are finally here.”
A small warning bell went off in her head at that, and still, Gwyn turned around and felt her stomach drop. Another woman sharing similar traits to Nesta was walking towards them with a bright smile. Elain Archeron. Her curly hair bounced around her as she picked up her pace, pretty much pulling the man—whose hand she was holding—along with her.
Lucien.
Even without the mismatched colored eyes, Gwyn would’ve recognized him.
She quickly turned back, trying to hide her face behind her hair. She had to get out of there. Before he recognized her as well.
Elain pulled both her sisters into what looked like a bone-crushing hug. Another pang of hurt sliced through her at the sight of it and Gwyn had to remind herself to actually breathe. There was no time for a breakdown, she had to come up with some quick excuse and leave.
Two pairs of eyes were watching her though. She felt both their stares burn through her skin. One pair nearly violet and the other pair mismatched—one eye russet and the other almost gold. Both were studying her, but in different ways. Rhysand seemed to pick up on her panic and tilted his head curiously, picking apart her reaction piece by piece, as if he could read her mind.
Lucien, on the other hand, was watching her carefully. Gwyn saw the moment it all clicked. Saw the surprise he tried to mask as Feyre pulled him into a hug.
“Oh, Gwyn,” Elain’s voice cut through the panic and suddenly she was also pulled into a long hug. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you. Nesta speaks so highly of you.”
Her body moved on its own as she returned the hug awkwardly.
“You too,” she said, but her voice didn’t feel like her own. How had her life turned into such a mess in such a short time? Why hadn’t she asked Nesta more about her sisters? About Elain’s fiance? Why? Why? Why? It would’ve been so easy to ask more, to ask her to show some pictures. Anything. Instead, Gwyn hadn’t wanted to know anything. Hadn’t wanted to see yet another couple in love.
And now, her past was truly catching up to her.
“Are you from Sangravah?”
Gwyn knew the question was directed at her. Her blood turned to ice in her veins and the dinner she’d had with Nesta and Emerie earlier threatened to come back up. It was a miracle it didn’t. The room tilted around her as every eye in their small group turned to look at her.
Feyre, apparently as perceptive as her husband and older sister, cut in before Gwyn’s silence became too long.
“Oh Sangravah,” she chirped, clapping her tattooed hands together lightly. “Isn’t that where you got that beautiful carpet for your guest-bedroom, Elain?”
It shouldn’t have worked. Somehow it did, and the conversation moved away from Gwyn immediately as Elain enthusiastically started to talk about the chic little store she’d found in Sangravah during one of their trips.
Unfortunately, it was not enough to keep Lucien’s curious eyes away from her.
He knew.
Or at the very least, he recognized enough to start putting the pieces together. Gwyn could practically see it happening behind those mismatched eyes every time they flickered back toward her face.
“Excuse me,” she blurted out suddenly. “I—uh, I need to find a bathroom.”
She wasn’t entirely sure anyone even heard her and didn’t stay long enough to find out.
The large gallery was too warm. Too crowded. Too suffocating. Her short heels clicked sharply against the polished floor as she hurried through the sea of people. Every click vibrated through her body violently as snippets of conversation blurred into a loud buzzing.
Still feeling watched, Gwyn made the mistake of looking over her shoulder.
Azriel stood near one of Feyre’s larger paintings with a glass of amber liquor in his hand, a beautiful blond woman in a red dress next to him. The woman was talking animatedly about something, but Azriel didn’t seem to be listening.
His hazel eyes were already watching her.
Gwyn looked away first this time, wrapping her arms tightly around herself to keep herself from falling apart.
Breathe.
She just needed to breathe.
The hallway leading toward the bathrooms was thankfully quieter than the main gallery. Dim lights lined the dark walls, highlighting the framed photographs and smaller paintings scattered throughout the corridor. Gwyn stopped once she was finally away from the crowd, slumping against the wall and squeezing her eyes shut. Willing her pulse to slow down, praying for the nausea to disappear.
This was bad.
No, bad didn’t even begin to cover it.
It was a disaster. A huge fucking disaster. She should’ve listened to her gut and stayed at home. How stupid to think anything would ever go her way.
Gwyn was so tired.
Sad.
Angry.
“Gwyneth Vanserra,” a smooth voice suddenly drawled. “A familiar face I haven’t seen in a long time. Should’ve known you’d also end up in Velaris.”
Her eyes snapped open at once. Across from her, leaning against the other wall, was another ghost from her past. A man with the same red hair as Lucien. Hair that was similar to hers, though the red was slightly stronger than her coppery tones.
She swallowed the bile rising in the back of her throat and ground her teeth together so hard it hurt.
“That’s not my name,” she hissed and glanced around the hallway to make sure no one else was around to hear them. The man smirked lazily and crossed his arms over his chest. His amber eyes looked her up and down slowly, taking in every little detail. The same way he had during the few times she’d met him as a child.
Eris Vanserra.
Of course he was there as well.
“Hm, I guess not,” he said and raised a brow. “It’s Berdara now, isn’t it? Your grandmother’s maiden name if I’m not mistaken.”
Something in her snapped at that. Every emotion from the past week and a half boiled over.
“Stop it,” she snapped and pushed herself off the wall and crossed the space between them. Eris did not seem threatened as she pointed a finger right into his chest. “You need to keep your mouth shut, do you hear me?”
“That’s no way to greet an old relative now, is it?” Eris hummed, entirely unconcerned as he simply grinned down at her.
“We are hardly related,” she retorted.
“Related enough.” His eyes sharpened slightly as Gwyn scowled. “If I cared, it’d almost be insulting—Rolf Vanserra’s granddaughter pretending she isn’t part of the family line.”
The words hit like a physical blow.
“Keep your voice down!” Gwyn pushed at his chest again. “It’s not like we were ever welcomed anyway.”
“It still doesn’t change the fact that we share the same blood.” His long fingers wrapped around her wrist as he carefully lowered her hand, stopping her from pushing him a third time. Gwyn snatched her arm back, took a step back and glared at him. “What happened to you? You disappeared.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Humor me.” Eris shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets.
She was close to tears. Her voice cracked slightly as she repeated, “You need to stop.”
It revealed more than she’d ever intended because Eris’s expression gradually shifted. It was not softer exactly. More attentive maybe.
“Last we heard you were living with that obnoxious prick of a man,” he said with a slight sneer. “Hayden Solder, wasn’t it?”
Gwyn visibly flinched at the name.
Eris went still. Only a small muscle in his jaw ticked before he asked, “What happened?”
“Nothing!” Black dots swam across her vision as Eris raised a scrutinizing brow at her reaction.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Panic fully crashed through Gwyn then, so forcefully and sudden that her knees gave out. Eris caught her by the elbow before she could hit the floor.
“Brother,” Lucien’s voice filled the otherwise empty hallway. "Perhaps this is not the right time for an interrogation.” He turned his attention to Gwyn’s crumbling form and judging by the way he looked at her, it was clear that he had figured out who she was. “Are you alright?”
“P-please.” Her voice was no louder than a whisper. The plea escaped before any sort of pride could stop it. “No one can know.”
Lucien came closer, placing a warm and comforting hand on her shoulder.
“They won’t,” he promised calmly and glanced up at Eris with a harsh glare. Waiting for the oldest Vanserra brother to agree. Daring him to go against it. Warning him to do so.
Eris only rolled his eyes.
“Our family is built on secrets,” he said casually. “What is one more?”
Relief nearly made her knees give out for a second time. It was then that Gwyn realized Eris still had a steady grip around her arm, keeping her upright. She slowly pulled away from him, standing taller and pushing her loose hair back behind her ears. Attempting to restore at least some part of her dignity.
“I think you’ve done enough here,” Lucien said to his brother, shooting him a look Gwyn couldn’t decipher.
“You’re always so dramatic, Little Lu,” Eris snorted.
“And you always lacked basic social skills.”
A faint smirk tugged at Eris’s mouth. Then his amber eyes flickered back to Gwyn one last time. Taking in her rigid posture and trembling hands.
“Relax,” he mused and gave her a grin that was far from comforting. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Eris,” Lucien warned with an exasperated sigh. Eris raised both hands mockingly before stepping around Gwyn so he could leave.
Once his frame disappeared around the corner, Lucien watched her for a moment before speaking again. “He won’t say anything. He may be an asshole most of the time, but he won’t say a word to anybody. Trust that.”
His attempt to comfort her didn’t land. Because if they knew she was in Velaris, anyone could. Eris had known about her new name. She’d been so careful. Had no social media accounts that revealed her full name. Had left no traces. Clotho had helped her with that. No record should exist. At least no record that was accessible.
Lucien cleared his throat lightly. “Are you alright?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded and then glanced away briefly, jaw tightening
“We heard about your mother and sister...” He hesitated before continuing, "about, uhm–about the accident. Our mother wanted to attend their funerals, but Beron...” He trailed off again with a long exhale. “We couldn’t make it. I know it was a long time ago now, but I’m sorry for your loss.”
Gwyn closed her eyes before any tears could fall. It had been over ten years, yet, it hurt just as much as it did back then.
“Thank you,” she whispered again, still not trusting her voice to fully carry her words.
“Can I–Do you need anything?”
“I just... need a moment,” she admitted quietly whilst continuing to keep her eyes shut. It was the only way to at least pretend she had some control left. Eyes closed and she could be anywhere. Anywhere but there. “To breathe.”
“Of course,” Lucien said, still observing her carefully. And then, “there is a small patio if you continue down the hall and go left. If you want some fresh air. I’ll cover for you.”
Gwyn managed to give him a weak nod. Lucien lingered for a moment. Hesitating as if he wanted to say something else. Ask more questions. Thankfully, he didn’t. Because she had no answers to give him anyway.
Once Gwyn made it outside, she collapsed into one of the chairs placed across the small patio. The chilly night air did little to help her thundering heart, but at least no one else was out there. Around her the large garden seemed to glitter beneath the bright moon. Beautiful and untouchable all at once. A stark contrast to everything Gwyn currently was.
She never should’ve made that stupid new years resolution. Get out there. Try new things. How fucking stupid. Take your life back. As if it had ever been hers. What a joke.
Tragedy followed her. Would always follow. She was a fool for thinking she could run from it all. It was all bound to find her from the start.
Still at the library? You never change
Too many things were happening at once. It was getting harder and harder to pretend that the unknown number was anything but another piece of her past coming back. Three years had passed since she’d escaped. Since she became Gwyneth Berdara instead. No one knew about the change. Not even Nesta or Emerie. They knew a lot. But not that, and it had to stay like that.
It was safer that way.
At least it had been. Until she decided to go out more. Until tonight.
Maybe she needed to run again. Go to another town far away and just stay at home where she could be safe. Keep a low profile and live out the rest of her life alone. It would be what she deserved anyway. Clearly Gwyn was not supposed to find either love or affection. Wasn’t meant for the deeper connection she so often witnessed between Nesta and Cassian.
She leaned over in her seat, putting her head between her knees, breathing deeply—forcing long steady breaths of air into her burning lungs. The cold air had done nothing to cool her overheating skin or ease the lightness in her head. Hopefully allowing her blood to flow back into her brain would help her think more clearly.
Gwyn didn’t have much hope it would.
Behind her, the large patio door suddenly creaked softly. She didn’t bother to sit back up. Couldn’t bring herself to look at who had joined her. It was probably just Nesta or Emerie coming to check on her. Lucien must’ve failed at keeping them busy. Not that she’d expected him to actually succeed in keeping her friends from checking up on her after her hasty exit.
“I’m fine.” The words slipped from her automatically. Rehearsed. “Just a bit overwhelmed.”
Silence answered her.
Not her friends then. Her body stiffened before she slowly glanced back up and met a pair of piercing hazel eyes.
Azriel stood by the door, one hand still resting on one of the sliding glass doors.
He looked almost as tired as she felt. His golden skin lacked its normal glow, the darkness beneath his eyes unusually prominent. Evidence that perhaps he hadn’t been sleeping very well either.
It saddened her.
And then Gwyn was angry.