His hands landed on my upper arms—warm, grounding, steadfast.
“Nothing to worry about when you go to Italy,” he murmured.
I spun around, my pulse kicking up.
“How can you be so sure?” I demanded.
We stood inches apart, his touch still lingering on my skin.
But this time, the pull—that overwhelming force that once threatened to devour me—wasn’t there.
Not the same way.
Malik smiled, easy, unbothered. “Stay by my side, and all will be well.”
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered, my insides coiling at the thought of catapulting into ancient Italy. Would it be as brutal as Roman’s time? Would we be walking into blood and ruin?
Still, Malik only watched me, his gaze knowing.
“All you have to do, love,” he said softly, “is follow my instructions.”
A small pause.
Then—
“Soon, you’ll be reunited with Roman.”
Malik’s smile faded.
I hesitated before finally saying, “Malik… about what happened yesterday between us?—”
“It will never happen again,” he said abruptly, cutting me off.
His hands clasped behind his back, his posture impossibly rigid.
“I do not wish to hurt you or Roman again,” he continued, his voice calm—too calm. “Roman is your husband, and I have to honor that.”
He inhaled, his gaze distant, as if looking through me rather than at me.
“If I were to have a wife,” he said, “and the darkness tried to seduce her, I would be angry.” His jaw tightened. “I sometimes… lose myself and forget I cannot have you, Olivia.”
His voice dipped, just slightly, like a whisper of something unsaid.
Then, with finality, he straightened.
“You and Roman belong with each other. And I will never make the same mistake again.”
I stared at him.
There was something in his tone—something so absolute, yet lined with something else… regret? Resignation?
I had no idea what Malik was truly thinking.
But his apology sounded sincere.
And, in his twisted way, he seemed to care about me and Roman.
A war raged inside me—one I refused to name.
