“I already gave you the terms,” he replied flatly.
His tone wasn’t aggressive — it was final.
As if negotiations had already closed.
His posture softened slightly. His voice lowered.
“I never once hated you, Elena.”
The statement surprised me.
He stepped closer — not aggressively, not invading space, but deliberately shrinking the distance between us.
“From the moment I saw you in that church...”
His gaze drifted somewhere distant. “...when Yannis tugged on my sleeve, wide-eyed, whispering that we should marry...”
A faint flicker crossed his face. “...that instant, I felt something.”
His jaw tightened.
“But fate twisted everything. It placed the sister of the woman who destroyed my life under my roof.”
His eyes returned to mine.
Heavy. Regret layered over something deeper.
“I loved my sister,” he continued quietly. “Amy.”
He said her name like invoking a memory that still had power over him.
“She was careful. Quiet. Beautiful.”
A faint smile — almost invisible — touched his lips.
“She was always my shadow and my shield.”
He exhaled slowly. “We survived our childhood in the States together.”
His voice painted the memory.
“We walked to school hand in hand. She used to pack my lunches.”
His gaze drifted, as if he could still see it.
His lips pressed together. “I walked her home every day.”
“Fending off street boys who mocked her for being quiet. Protecting her from strangers who saw vulnerability and tried to exploit it.”
His eyes darkened. “She didn’t choose that life. The military. The CIA. She was too young. It was never what she wanted.”
His voice hardened. “My father made sure she had no choice. Shaped her into something she hated.”
His jaw flexed. “And I promised myself — if it ever came to a choice between us — who lives and who dies — I would sacrifice myself without hesitation.”
“That’s how deep it ran.” His voice dropped — colder now. “And I watched her die.”
The air in the hallway shifted. “Punched to death.”
