I know this moment.
I’ve lived it.
That razor’s edge between telling the truth… or running from it forever.
My hand drags through my hair, trying to ground myself. My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it.
“There’s something I never told you,” I say, my voice low. “Something big.”
Her eyes don’t flinch. Just a soft, steady, “Okay. Tell me now.”
God.
I stare at the floor as the words come out, each one heavier than the last.
“I used to work for people I shouldn’t have. Real bad people.”
I can’t even bring myself to look at her. I strip all the feeling from my voice, like if I keep it flat enough, maybe it won’t land so hard.
“My job was to make problems go away. That meant collecting, threatening… sometimes more. I was an enforcer.”
I don’t say the word.
Mafia.
But it’s there. Between us. A ghost with its hand on my shoulder.
“I got out years ago,” I say quickly. “I don’t owe them anything. I thought I was done.”
I pause, jaw tight. My hands are clenched so hard I have to force them to loosen.
“But now…” I shake my head. “Ava, the notes. The flowers. The way someone’s watching you.”
I finally meet her eyes. “I’ve seen this before. It feels like them. The way they operated. The way they made you feel hunted before they even showed their face.”
My voice lowers, the weight of it sinking between us.
“I think this stalker… he might be someone from my past. Someone I crossed, or someone who thinks getting to you is a way to get to me.”
I watch her face, waiting for fear, for revulsion—for something that tells me I’ve finally gone too far.
But all I see is her heart breaking for me. For us. Because she thinks I’m bracing for her to run. She’s right.
“Elijah…”
God, the way she says my name—soft, careful, like she’s holding something fragile.
“I didn’t want to tell you,” I admit. “Not because I don’t trust you, but because I knew the second I did, you’d see me differently.”
My voice cracks at the edges. I can’t stop it. I hate this. I hate letting her see me like this—unworthy, tainted.
But then she leans closer.
“I don’t,” she says, just like that.
My eyes search hers, desperate, skeptical. “Ava—”
“You’re not that man anymore.” Her voice is steady, fierce. “And even if you were, I’d want to understand why. You don’t scare me, Elijah. Not your past. Not your damage. Not your darkness.”
