I nod slowly, then shrug. "All right."
But before I go, I grab the edge of that pretentious mahogany desk and hurl it straight at him with everything I've got. It crashes across the room, missing his head by inches, shattering through the window behind him.
He flinches. Barely, but enough for me to grin.
"See you around, goat man," I say, then vanish through the back.
The building's a mess. Bodies in the halls. Blood on the floor. Sirens screaming in the distance. I slip into the shadows, sprinting toward the forest.
But not toward the house. Not toward her.
I don't regret it. Not yet. But I know I will. And soon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Asher
Sleep never comes. Instead, I run drills in the back garden until sweat stings my eyes and my arms ache from repetition. The rhythm helps. Focus. Discipline. It's the only way to quiet my mind.
After a long session and a cold shower, I hear her moving upstairs. Light steps, hesitant. Avoiding. I don't go up, and start breakfast instead.
She comes down eventually, still in pajama bottoms and a loose shirt, hair tangled, eyes red-rimmed. She hasn't slept either.
"Waffles?" she asks, voice rough.
"Yes. Something sweet." I pour batter, flip another onto the iron. When it's ready, I set syrup and honey on the counter.
"After the bitterness of yesterday? Feels a bit on the nose," she quips tentatively.
I don't answer. Just gesture to the pot. "Coffee's ready."
She pours herself a mug and sits at the table. "You don't have to do this. I can make my own breakfast."
"I like routines," I tell her, placing a fresh waffle on the plate in front of her. Then, quieter: "And I like doing this for you."
She looks down, eyes brightening with tears she doesn't want me to see. The sight hits hard. I reach across, take her hand.
"I'm sorry, Asher," she whispers. "I just… I don't know. I tried. It was reckless. And it wasn't fair, not telling you, but—"
I shake my head. "I understand. We crashed into each other in chaos, and it hasn't stopped. Suddenly we're married, and the world hasn't given us a single breath to adjust. It's not easy to find the right way forward." My voice softens. "But if we want to, we have to do it together."
I pause, then add, "We should have told you, too. You said we couldn't just sit and wait for Darius's next move, and you were right. Defense alone won't beat a long-term strategist like him. We wanted to watch, to let him or his people slip so we could expose them, strip their claws out of this town."
She nods, understanding, though her voice is strained. "I went because I wanted to hear what he had to say."
"I know." I'd already guessed. "Did he tell you anything that changed your mind?"
She exhales, shoulders heavy. "I learned things that explain some of what he's done, why he hides what he hides. But his approach… it's still manipulation."
I lean closer, brush a strand of hair from her face. "You trusted him to keep his word, and he did. For now. But this…" I glance toward the window, then back at her. "This is a zero-sum game. Either we have you, or he does. There's no middle ground where everyone walks away happy. And he doesn't strike me as a man who admits defeat."
Her voice drops. "He isn't."
"Then we'll have to force it," I say, leaning back, calm again. "It's the only way." I nod toward her plate. "Eat."
To soften the order, I lean in and brush a kiss on the corner of her mouth. "Wife."
Her whole face lights up—smile radiant, otherworldly. For a moment, the weight lifts. For a moment, it's enough.
