“I’m acting like what this is,” he says, voice still low, too calm. “A deal. One that keeps you alive.”
“Is it really being alive if I’ll be living in a cage?” I snap. “You think I care about being alive right now? I care about what this means. About what it says about you.”
He stands then—slow, deliberate, the movement too quiet for the storm in my chest. “What does it say about me?”
“That you knew,” I say. “That you knew and you let me keep believing that maybe there was more to this than whatever you tell yourself it is.”
His expression doesn’t change. That’s what hurts the most.
“You’re not a child, Mara. You knew what this was from the start.”
“Did I?” My voice shakes. “Because I thought maybe it was becoming something else. I thought you—” I stop. The words stick, but I force them out anyway. “I thought maybe you were starting to feel something.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. If there’s anything behind his eyes, it’s gone before I can see it.
“I told you from the beginning,” he says quietly. “I don’t do relationships.”
“You say that like it’s some kind of warning label I ignored.”
“It was.”
“You think that excuses everything?” I ask. “You think sayingI warned youmakes this, okay?”
“No.” His voice is flat again. “It makes you naïve.”
I swallow hard, the taste of bitterness and disbelief thick in my mouth. “You could’ve said something. You could’ve told me the truth.”
“And what would that have changed?” He steps closer, but his tone stays detached and clinical. “You’d still be his sister. I’d still be the man who made a deal with your brother, and I’m only looking to get what I bargained for. Nothing more.”
“I didn’t ask you to save me,” I say, my voice breaking on the last word. “I just thought maybe you’d want to try.”
That’s what does it: the smallest shift in his expression, a flicker of something that almost looks like regret.
Then it’s gone.
“This…” he says, gesturing between us. “…was never supposed to be complicated.”
“Then why did you make it that way?” I ask. “Why did you kiss me like it meant something? Why did you touch me like you couldn’t stop yourself if it didn’t matter?”
He doesn’t answer.
“That’s what I hate about you,” I whisper. “You act like everything’s a choice, like you’re above wanting things, but you’re not. You wanted me. You still do. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“Mara—”
“I thought I could change you,” I say, and the words hit harder than I expect. “I thought there might have been more. I really thought you’d see this as something more than just sex.”
His silence is an answer in itself. Cold. Final.
When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “Ididwarn you.”
It feels like being punched.
“That’s it?” I ask. “That’s all you have to say?”
He nods once. “You knew what this was.”
I shake my head. “No. You knew what Ihopedit was. And you let me believe it anyway.”
