“I’m not saying I would have expected you to tell me immediately. We barely knew each other.” Her voice is soft but steady. “But after everything between us... after I gave you parts of myself...”
“I know.” The weight of my betrayal hangs heavy between us. “I told myself I was protecting you. That learning the truth would only cause you pain. But that was a lie I created to justify my cowardice.”
A tear slips down her cheek, and she wipes it away quickly, not wanting to show weakness.
“I won’t make excuses. There aren’t any that matter.” I step back, giving her the physical space that mirrors the emotional distance she needs. “I’m sorry, Aurora. Not just for keeping the truth from you, but for everything Jax has put you through because of me.”
She looks up, those azure eyes holding mine. Not with forgiveness—we’re nowhere near that shore—but with something like recognition. Of my regret. Of my truth.
“I’ll give you the space you need,” I continue, my voice rough with emotion I’ve never allowed myself to express before. “Take whatever time you require. My resources are yours to use in finding Olivia—no strings, no expectations.”
I turn to leave, pausing. “I hope someday you find a way to forgive me. Not because I deserve it, but because you deserve peace. And if that means never seeing me again after we find your sister, I’ll respect that choice.”
I turn and walk away from her, each step heavier than the last.
This unfamiliar pressure builds in my chest, crushing and splitting open something I’ve kept sealed away my entire life. The sensation is physical—a tearing, a ripping, a violent extraction of something vital I never acknowledged was there.
I’ve broken men. I’ve destroyed lives. I’ve watched the light fade from enemies’ eyes without blinking. Hell, I’ve enjoyed it, the rush of taking a life. Throughout it all, I believed nothing could touch me—that I was constructed differently, immune to the weaknesses of ordinary men.
Yet here I am, thirty-three years of calculated control, crumbling from the inside out.
The hallway stretches endlessly before me. My lungs refuse to work properly. My throat constricts around unspoken words. This is what drowning must feel like—fighting against something invisible yet absolutely overwhelming.
I press my palm against the wall to steady myself, the brief flash of pain from my injured shoulder almost welcome—a distraction from this new, unbearable hollowness. For the first time in my life, I understand those poetic descriptions of heartbreak. It’s not metaphorical. The physical sensation is devastatingly real.
Aurora Harrison. The woman who showed me I had a heart by teaching me what it feels like to have it ripped out.
I force myself forward. One foot. Then the other. My body moving while something essential remains behind with her.
Such a simple offer—to respect her choice if she never wants to see me again. The words came easily. The reality of it guts me completely.
The realization hits like a bullet to the chest: I love her. Not want. Not possess. Not control.
Love.
And I might have lost her forever.
19
AURORA
Iwake to the sound of rain against the windows, disoriented for a moment before remembering where I am—Hunter’s safe house in the mountains. The digital clock glows 7:23 PM. I’ve slept longer than I meant to when I laid down for a nap.
For three days, Hunter has given me space while somehow always being present. He brings me meals, sits across from me while I pick at the food, and answers every question I throw at him without hesitation or deflection. No matter how painful or accusatory.
“Your father was a good man,” he told me yesterday. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him. And you didn’t deserve to believe he abandoned you.”
I pull myself up from the bed, wrapping the soft blanket around my shoulders. My anger hasn’t disappeared—it’s transformed into something more complex. A deep ache that acknowledges the truth: while Hunter knew about my father, he was twenty-one himself when it happened, trapped in Jax’s web.
The man who’s been caring for me these past days isn’t the unfeeling billionaire I first met on that cliff edge. He’s someone who finally chose to break free of his chains, risking everythinghe built to find me. To save me. I think of the bullet wound in his shoulder that he barely acknowledges.
“I won’t ask your forgiveness,” he said last night, setting down a cup of tea beside me. “I don’t deserve it. But I will find Olivia, Aurora. I swear it.”
I’ve been processing not just my father’s death but the truth about Hunter. A man capable of terrible things, yet who looks at me with such tenderness it makes my chest ache.
I pad barefoot across the cool wooden floor. The house is quiet except for the distant sound of someone typing. I follow it, blanket trailing behind me like a cape, determined to find him.
It’s time we talked about what happens next.
