“I’ll live.”
His jaw flexes like he wants to pull me into him, claim something in front of everyone watching.
But this ain’t the time. There are reporters. Club tension. Whispers that stick to skin.
I take a step back.
That’s the moment everything changes.
“I don’t want to ruin you,” I say quietly.
His brows pull together. “You didn’t.”
“I killed your wife.”
“She attacked you.”
“I still killed her.”
He exhales hard, like I’ve just insulted him. “She was unstable. She…”
“She was yours,” I cut in.
Silence drops between us.
He doesn’t flinch.
“She hasn’t been mine in years,” he says.
“That doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “The club will always see me as the reason. The town will. Maybe one day you will.”
His eyes go cold, not at me, at the idea. “That ain’t how this works.”
“It is,” I say, and my throat tightens. “You’re VP. You made that marriage for the club. For stability. And I’m the girl who stabbed your wife to death.”
“You defended yourself.”
“I’m still the fracture.”
He reaches for me then, finally, his hand brushing my jaw. “Brit…”
I step back again.
“I love you,” I say, because I can’t let this end in silence.
The words hang there, fragile and reckless.
His breath stutters.
“Don’t,” he warns, like loving him is dangerous.
“That’s why I can’t stay in your way,” I whisper. “If I stay close, folks will think you chose me over the club. Over loyalty. Over stability. And they won’t forgive that.”
His voice drops low. “I don’t give a fuck what they think.”
“But you should,” I say softly. “Because you built this. You chose it. And I don’t want to be the thing that tears it down.”
He studies me like he’s trying to see through bone.
