Loved You Once But He's My Forever (Chloe) novel Chapter 484

The frames of his glasses gleamed under the light, their edges catching and reflecting a cold brilliance. Behind them, his eyes held a weighty depth, calm yet piercing, impossible to decipher.

When our gazes locked, a shiver ran through me. My defenses, carefully built and painstakingly maintained, fell apart in an instant.

There was no hiding from him. He saw through everything.

"You weaseled that answer out of me."

"I thought we were friends."

His expression barely shifted, yet there was a flicker of something that looked like disappointment. "In half a year," he began, his tone heavier now, "not once did you reach out. Not one message, not a single call either."

I glanced toward the door and realized he had closed it quietly; leaving me no chances to escape.

"When did you figure it out?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

"Chloe," he said, almost incredulous, "I was your therapist for years. Did you honestly believe you could pull this off without me noticing? Why do you think I went along with exposing Anna as a fraud? Do you think I have nothing better to do?"

"Then why pretend not to recognize me?" I shot back, though my voice lacked conviction.

"At first, I thought it was too far-fetched to be real," he admitted, his tone measured. "I couldn't believe it. The idea was absurd. But the way you spoke, the way you moved—it all reminded me of you. Still, it wasn't enough. So, I started looking deeper. Over the last six months, I've traveled, gathered information, and connected the dots. Turns out, this sort of thing—souls switching bodies—is rare, but not unheard of."

I froze, caught between disbelief and resignation. A weak laugh slipped out despite myself. Leave it to Sergio to turn this into a full-blown investigation. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had charts, graphs, maybe even a presentation to back it all up.

"I dug into Zoey's history," he continued, his voice sharp yet deliberate. "Then I watched you at the competition. The shifts in your emotions, the way you reacted—it confirmed what I already suspected. The soul in that body doesn't belong there. But here's what really stings. Tell me, Chloe, if your friend hadn't needed therapy, would you have come back at all?"

"I ... " The words caught in my throat. I didn't know what to say.

Back when the Sanders family and Luke had pushed me to the brink, Sergio had been my anchor. He helped me piece myself back together, one session at a time. He even stayed while I painted, offering quiet encouragement when I couldn't find my way. Most of those works were still with him, though I hadn't thought about them in years.

We were friends, yes. But the kind whose closeness faded over time, not the ones you'd share every secret with.

After my rebirth, every step had been a calculated risk. Trusting anyone, even someone like Sergio, felt reckless.

And announcing my return to the world? Impossible.

He stood and moved closer, his footsteps deliberate. His gaze held a weight I hadn't seen before, as though I had crossed an invisible line. There was no anger in his eyes, only something heavier, something personal.

"Or maybe," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, "I don't even qualify as a friend anymore. Is that it?"

"No," I blurted. "It's not like that. I've just been ... busy." The excuse sounded feeble even to me.

He stopped in front of me, looking down with an intensity that made my skin prickle. A faint, icy smile curled his lips, cutting and sharp. "Busy," he echoed. "That's your answer?"

This wasn't the Sergio I remembered. He had always been composed and steady; a man of reason. But now, standing before me, he seemed different. The change wasn't loud or obvious—it was quiet, but undeniable.

And it scared me in a way I couldn't explain.

I clutched the pillow as if it might shield me. "I've been busy, okay? And think about it—my death wasn't exactly a quiet affair. If anyone finds out I'm alive, I might not stay that way for long."

Sergio's gaze didn't waver. His sharp eyes seemed to cut through my words, searching for cracks, for anything that didn't hold true.

But this time, I wasn't lying. The hard set of his face softened, and he seemed to let his guard down. For a moment, he looked like the Sergio I remembered.

"Chloe," he said, his voice even, "are we still friends?"

"Of course," I answered without hesitation. "I haven't forgotten everything you did for me. Back then, you gave me the strength to keep going."

Guilt flickered in his expression, casting a shadow across his face. "But I couldn't save you in the end. I failed you. I'm sorry."

"Don't," I said, shaking my head. "What happened wasn't your fault. Don't blame yourself."

Before he could respond, the door swung open. Whitney stood in the doorway, her face calm but her presence commanding.

"Dr. Zimmer," she said, her voice steady, "your methods don't seem to be working."

Sergio adjusted his glasses, his emotions slipping into a mask of professionalism. He turned to her, his tone measured. "Then we'll need to try something else."