"I love you. I don't know when it happened. I don't know if it's real or just Stockholm syndrome or my brain trying to make sense of captivity. But it feels real. Feels like—like I'd do anything for you. Even perform for the Consortium. Even let them watch me submit. Even?—"
I pull her up and kiss her before she can finish.
Kiss her like she's air and I've been drowning.
Like she's everything and I've only just realized it.
When I finally pull back, we're both breathless.
"Say it again," I demand.
"I love you."
"Even though I bought you?"
"Even though."
"Even though I trained you?"
"Yes."
"Even though I'm asking you to perform for strangers?"
"Yes, Vaughn, I?—"
"I love you too," I interrupt. "I don't know when it happened either. Somewhere between the auction and the hunt and watching you discover yourself. Somewhere in those weeks of training. You stopped being an acquisition and became—became everything. And the thought of sharing you with the Consortium makes me want to burn the whole organization to the ground."
"Then don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't share me. Don't take me to the showcase. Don't—" She stops. Starts again. "What if we ran? What if we just—left? Disappeared? Started over somewhere they can't find us?"
"They'd look for us. The Consortium doesn't forgive?—"
"I know. But would it be worth it? Would I be worth giving up the inner circle? Worth potentially losing everything you've built?"
The question hangs between us.
Would she?
Six days ago, the answer would have been no.
The inner circle was everything.
Power was everything. Being untouchable was the only goal that mattered.
Now?
Now I look at her kneeling between my legs, saying she loves me, offering to run away with me?—
And I know the answer.
"Yes," I say. "You're worth it. Worth more than the inner circle. Worth more than power. Worth more than being untouchable. You're worth everything, Eden."
"You mean that."
"Yes."
