Whatever he has to say, I'll take it.
"She's been hurt," Fenrir says finally. "By men in this club. Men I should've protected her from better than I did."
"I know."
"Njal and Bjorn—they treated her like garbage. Made her think she wasn't worth anything. It took years for me to understand how deep that damage went. How much she was hiding from us." His voice tightens. "I failed her. As a father. I didn't see what was happening until it was too late."
"That wasn't your fault."
"Wasn't it?" He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter now. What matters is what happens next. What happens with you."
"I love her," I say simply. "I've loved her for years. And I'll spend the rest of my life proving she's worth keeping. Worth fighting for. Worth everything."
"Pretty words."
"They're not just words. I almost died a few days ago. The only thing I could think about was getting back to her. Making sure she knew how much she mattered." I hold his gaze. "I know my word doesn't mean much right now. I know I have to prove it. But I will. Every day. For as long as she'll have me."
Fenrir studies me for a long moment.
I can't read his expression.
Can't tell if I've passed whatever test this is or failed spectacularly.
Then he nods.
"Your parents raised a good man. Stubborn as hell, reckless sometimes, but good." He stands. "You have my blessing. Not that you needed it—Ingrid's a grown woman, makes her own choices. But for what it's worth, I'm glad she chose you."
Relief floods through me.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. You fuck this up, and VP or not, father or not, I will end you. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good." He moves toward the door, pauses with his hand on the handle. "The club's working on the trafficking situation. We'll get those kids back. But your job right now is to heal. Be there for my daughter. Give her something good to hold onto while we handle the ugly business."
"I will."
He nods once more, then leaves.
I sink back against the pillows, exhausted but lighter somehow.
Her father's blessing.
Her yes.
A future that's finally taking shape.
Now I just have to heal.
And hope we can save those kids before it's too late.
The door opens again.
Ingrid, this time carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and some bread.
"Chicken noodle," she announces. "It was that or leftover lasagna, and I figured soup would be easier on your stomach."
