The truth spills from me like floodwater.
“Every hour in his apartment feels like torture. Watching him move around the kitchen, hearing that soft way he says my name… I keep reminding myself it’s fake. That he moved on…loved someone else. That he had a child. A life. Things I’m not part of.”
I squeeze her hand.
“But my heart doesn’t care. It feels like it never stopped loving him.”
The weight of it crushes me.
“And I know,” I whisper, my breaths turning uneven, “I know I’m going to have to walk away again when this is over. Because he deserves someone who chooses him without conditions. Without secrets or a family that hates him. Without obligations.”
My tears drip onto our joined hands.
“And you deserve to live. If the price of your life is my heart breaking a second time, then… fine. I can survive that. I will survive that.”
I sit with her like that for several minutes, letting the quiet wrap around me like a thin blanket. The machines beep steadily, a strange comfort amid the storm in my chest.
When I finally stand to leave, brushing a hand along her arm, a voice behind me freezes my blood.
“Well, well. I thought I might find you here.”
I turn slowly, dread filling every cell.
He stands just inside the doorway, expensive suit, smug smile. The man my aunt wants me to marry.
Damian.
My pulse stutters painfully.
“What are you doing here?” I snap, moving instinctively so my body shields Anna.
He lifts his hands in a mock-innocent gesture. “Looking for you, of course. Your aunt said you’ve been… difficult to reach lately.”
Anger flares hot and instant.
I lie, tilting my chin. “I don’t answer to her,” I bite out, trying to push past him.
He sidesteps, blocking the door with ease.
“Maybe not,” he says smoothly, “but you will answer to me, eventually.”
Revulsion crawls up my spine.
“I’m not doing this with you,” I growl. “Move.”
He doesn’t.
Instead, he steps closer, dropping the polite mask. “You should think twice before disobeying your aunt. She’s given you everything. Protect your sister. You owe her loyalty.”
“Don’t you dare talk about loyalty,” I hiss. “What kind of man agrees to an arranged marriage with someone who doesn’t want him?”
His jaw tics. “A man who understands responsibility. A man who knows that a wife falls in line with her husband’s expectations.”
Before I can react, he grabs my arm—hard. Pain shoots up to my shoulder.
“Let me go,” I grit out, trying to yank free.
His grip tightens. “You’ll learn to behave. Your aunt and I?—”
