The Do-Over System:My Beloved is the Villain! - Chapter 82

Chapter 82: 02/28- Mal’s Love Advice
Malion Drethos had always been an observant man. As Lucian’s trusted general and personal guard, it was his duty to read every flicker of expression on his prince’s face, every shift in tone, and every unspoken word between him and those around him.

So when Lucian let out an unexpected chuckle—a rare and genuine one at that—Mal’s sharp eyes caught it immediately.

The battlefield of emotions between Lucian and Aeliana had been tense, filled with heartbreak, regret, and stubborn persistence. Mal had watched from the sidelines as they danced between anger and longing, each too prideful or too afraid to take that final step forward.

But this laugh—this moment—was different.

Mal raised an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest as he studied Lucian with mild amusement. “Alright, what’s so funny?”

Lucian, still lost in his own thoughts, took a second to register the question. He turned to Mal, the ghost of a smirk still lingering on his lips, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it—nostalgia, maybe even something softer.

“Nothing,” Lucian muttered, shaking his head.

Mal wasn’t buying it. “That didn’t look like ‘nothing.’ That looked like a man remembering something worth laughing about.”

Lucian sighed, running a hand through his dark hair before glancing at Aeliana, who was still watching him with uncertainty. He hesitated before answering. “I just remembered something she said to me a long time ago.”

Mal tilted his head. “And?”

Lucian exhaled, his voice quieter this time. “She told me she’d wait for me.”

Mal’s brow furrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. He had been by Lucian’s side through everything—the battles, the betrayals, the nights when his prince had drowned himself in duty to escape the weight of his emotions. He had seen the way Lucian had struggled, torn between his responsibilities and his heart.

And now, standing here, watching Lucian look at Aeliana with something dangerously close to longing, Mal understood.

“She still is,” Mal said simply.

Lucian’s jaw tensed, his smirk fading. “That’s the problem.”

Mal sighed, shifting his stance. “Is it?”

Lucian didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at Aeliana again—at the way she fidgeted slightly under his gaze, at the stubborn determination in her eyes, the same one she had when she first made that promise to him.

She had waited. Through every fight, every misunderstanding, every painful moment, she had never let go.

And he had spent so long convincing himself that he couldn’t afford to believe in it.

Mal, ever patient, watched the internal war play out across Lucian’s face before he spoke again. “You’ve forgiven her, haven’t you?”

Lucian nodded once. “I have.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

Lucian clenched his fists. “Mal, you know it’s not that simple.”

Mal chuckled, shaking his head. “It is that simple. You just make it complicated.”

Lucian shot him a glare, but Mal held his ground. “Look,” the general continued, “I’ve been with you through all of this, and I know you better than you like to admit. You’re afraid of getting hurt again. That’s understandable. But what you need to ask yourself is this—what’s worse? The possibility of getting hurt again… or losing her for good?”

Lucian’s breath caught.

Losing her for good.

The thought sent an unexpected chill through him.

He had spent so much time pushing her away, convincing himself it was for the best. That he was doing the right thing. That if he let her go, they would both be better off.

But was that really true?

Mal sighed, patting Lucian on the shoulder. “You don’t have to make a decision right now, but don’t waste time lying to yourself. If you’re going to walk away, do it with certainty. If you’re going to hold on, then do it properly. No half-measures.”

Lucian didn’t respond. He didn’t have an answer—not yet.

But as he looked at Aeliana again, standing there with hope flickering in her eyes, he knew one thing for certain.

He wasn’t ready to walk away. Not yet.

And maybe… just maybe… he never would be.

Lucian let out a slow breath, his gaze fixed on the flickering torches lining the stone walls of the corridor. The weight of his thoughts pressed heavily on him, and for once, he found himself uncertain of the path ahead. He had always been decisive, always the one to take control of a situation, but now… now, he felt lost.

Malion Drethos stood beside him, arms crossed as he watched his prince with quiet patience. The general had known Lucian for years, had fought beside him in battle, had advised him through political intrigue, had seen him both at his most ruthless and his most vulnerable. And right now, Mal knew that something was bothering him deeply.

Lucian finally turned to his most trusted guard and confidant. “Mal,” he said, his voice lower than usual, tinged with something close to hesitation. “I need your advice.”

Mal raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Lucian was not the type to seek counsel unless the matter was truly troubling him. “What is it, my lord?” he asked evenly.

Lucian exhaled, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s Aeliana,” he admitted. “She’s… persistent.”

Mal let out a quiet chuckle. “That she is.”

Lucian shot him a glare, but Mal’s smirk didn’t waver. The general had been watching this unfolding storm for quite some time now, and while Lucian was only just acknowledging the weight of his emotions, Mal had seen the truth long before now.

“I forgave her,” Lucian said after a pause. “But I don’t know what to do next.”

Mal studied him carefully. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

Lucian stiffened slightly at the accusation. “Afraid?” he scoffed. “I am not afraid.”

Mal shook his head. “You are.” He leaned against the stone wall, his arms still crossed. “You’re afraid that if you let her in again, you’ll end up back where you were before. That she’ll hurt you. That you’ll hurt her. That everything will come crashing down.”

Lucian clenched his jaw, but he didn’t deny it.

Mal sighed. “Let me ask you something, my lord. Do you still love her?”

Lucian flinched.

Love.

He had spent so much time avoiding that word, burying it beneath duty and resentment. But now, forced to confront it, he wasn’t sure how to answer.

After a long moment of silence, Mal spoke again, his tone softer. “Lucian, I’ve known you for years. I’ve seen you command armies, negotiate with kings, hold your ground against the most dangerous foes. But I have never seen you as alive as when you were with her.”

Lucian turned away, his expression unreadable.

Mal continued. “You can keep pushing her away, keep telling yourself that it’s the right thing to do. But you and I both know that if she truly walked away, if she truly gave up on you… you wouldn’t be able to stand it.”

Lucian’s hands curled into fists. The truth of Mal’s words burned.

The thought of Aeliana moving on, of her laughter belonging to someone else, of her stubborn devotion fading into indifference—it sent an ache through his chest that he couldn’t ignore.

Mal’s voice was steady as he pressed on. “You need to ask yourself, Lucian… Is your pride worth losing her?”

Lucian inhaled sharply, as if struck.

His pride. His stubbornness. His fear.

Had he let all of those things cloud what truly mattered?

Mal watched him carefully. “I won’t tell you what to do, my lord. That’s for you to decide. But if you ask me… I think you’ve spent enough time running from the truth.”

Lucian didn’t speak for a long time. The only sound between them was the crackling of the torches and the distant murmurs of soldiers stationed nearby.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lucian let out a slow breath.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted, his voice quieter than before. “I don’t know where to begin.”

Mal smiled slightly. “Then start small. You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Just… be honest with yourself. And with her.”

Lucian looked away, his thoughts still tangled, but something in him felt just a little bit lighter.

Perhaps Mal was right. Perhaps he had spent too long running.

And perhaps… it was time to stop.

Lucian let out a quiet sigh, his fingers resting against the hilt of his sword as he mulled over Mal’s words. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to take one more go at this—at love, at Aeliana. He had spent so much time trying to push her away, convinced that it was the right thing to do, that they were too different, too broken. But deep down, he had never truly let go.

He thought back to the way she had looked at him earlier, her eyes filled with so much sincerity, so much quiet desperation. She had always been stubborn, always willing to fight for what she believed in. And this time, it was him. She believed in them, even after everything.

Could he do the same?

Lucian straightened, his resolve hardening. He wouldn’t promise forever—not yet, not when there were still so many wounds between them. But he could try. He could take a step toward her instead of away. Maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other.

Mal, watching him closely, smirked knowingly. “So,” he said, arms crossed. “What’s your next move, my lord?”