Rejected Their Broken Luna Chapter 160: Chap-160*The Runaway Beloved Sister*

Cynthia Dion:

"See, you can't answer my questions," the moment he scoffed, he realized he had made a mistake.

"You shouldn't stay here," I gathered my composure and straightened my posture, refusing to appear lost in front of him. He leaned back once more, pulling out his phone and avoiding eye contact this time.

"Don't worry about me; I'll be fine here," Atticus continued, as if nothing had transpired between us all these years. He settled back and continued to gaze at his phone's screen.

"Your mate is waiting for you. Go spend time with her," I retorted, frowning.

"By that logic, I should stay here," he muttered, keeping his eyes on his phone.

"But you don't have to. I don't want you near me," I insisted, unprepared to have him close when a significant part of the reason I was enduring this ordeal was connected to him, or at least most of the trouble could be attributed to his actions.

"Okay, but I'm not leaving," as he reaffirmed his stance, I rubbed my face in my hands and stared at him in disbelief for a moment. Was this his new strategy to irritate me?

"We're not mates, remember?" I chuckled, attempting to remind him of how he had rejected me. He remained silent.

"Listen, we despise each other; it's best if we part ways now," I sighed as I spoke those words. It wasn't a lie, considering the things he had put me through. We could never be the kind of mates who got along and respected each other. He had rejected me, so it was all over now.

"You hate me?" He jolted me out of my stunned state, returning me to reality with his question. This time, I found him gazing into my eyes, as if he wasn't certain why I would hate him.

"More than anything in this world," I asserted clearly to him. The uncertainty about whether my words or actions would hurt him was a thing of the past. I was absolutely certain that I hated him, and it appeared he felt the same way about me.

"Hmm, it makes sense," he nodded, wrinkling his nose before immersing himself in his cellphone once more. I didn't even want to bother asking him to explain. I couldn't care less.

"So, can you leave now?" I inquired, hoping he would grasp that there was no space for us to coexist under the same roof.

"No!" he shook his head, still not glancing in my direction. It dawned on me that I might as well have been talking to myself. No matter what I said or did, he wasn't going to budge. With that realization, I rose from my seat and headed into the room I had once shared with my sister.

As soon as I stepped into the room, a strange chill seemed to wash over my skin, making me shudder in bewilderment. This was an entirely new experience for me.

It felt as if negative energy clung to the room, or perhaps it was simply that nobody had lived in it for a while. Dust coated every surface, and the bed had been stowed up against the wall, rather than occupying its usual position in the center of the room.

"Maybe Flora's not as into cleaning anymore," I mused aloud. It was the only explanation I could conjure. Our neighborhood often became quite dusty during storms or rainy weather, so perhaps last night's weather had caused this mess, and she hadn't had the time to tidy up due to her school schedule.

I picked up an old shirt from the closet where our clothes used to be kept and started dusting around, but the sensation of negative energy still lingered.

Then, I noticed that Flora's laundry had been sitting by the closet for an indeterminate amount of time. This further piqued my curiosity, prompting me to exit the room and seek out my father for information about Flora.

Upon returning, I found my father offering Atticus some sweets. It was evident that Atticus wasn't sure where he would sleep, given the limited space and number of bedrooms.

"Dad!" I persisted, noticing his continued disregard, "When is Flora coming back home?" Even as he refused to respond, I pressed for an answer. Atticus slowly raised his gaze from his plate and fixed his stare on my father, who rolled his eyes to make it clear that he had no intention of acknowledging me, even though he clearly heard me.

"Do you need assistance with your hearing, perhaps?" Atticus inquired, addressing my father, who didn't seem to expect that Atticus would intervene in how he treated me.

"Um, Flora doesn't live here anymore," my father declared, and as soon as those words left his lips, I approached him with a touch of aggression.

"What do you mean by that?" I demanded as I took the plate out of his hands and set it aside, urging him to focus on the matter at hand. That statement had rocked my world, leaving me feeling as though he had struck me in the gut. Did he send Flora away to live with my aunt, my grandparents, or anyone else who might still be alive?

"What's gotten into you? Just because you're back doesn't mean you can treat your father this way," Dad nearly raised his hand to strike me, but he refrained, not only because Atticus let out a growl but also because I didn't flinch this time.

This time, I chose not to restrain Thea.

"Where is Flora?" I locked eyes with him, allowing Thea to emerge. My father was not just astonished but also terrified as he observed my eye color shifting.

"Answer me," I murmured, keeping my gaze fixed on him, and he swallowed hard, bewildered. Even my father had been unaware that Thea had been awake within me all this time.

"She ran away," he stammered, retreating a few steps to put some distance between us as he spoke of her.

It was as though my heart had stopped beating entirely after hearing those words out of my dad's mouth. She ran away? When and how had it happened? Why had no one informed me?