His entire body went rigid—like a man struck through the chest. Pain flickered first across his features, then fury, then something far worse. A hollow, shattering devastation that seemed to carve through him in real time. His breath escaped in a ragged, broken exhale.
Then he snapped.
Not in anger.
Not in frustration.
But in the quiet, catastrophic way a man breaks when confronted with the one question that undoes every defense he has ever built.
His hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers threading into the roots of my hair as though he feared Imight fall away from him and vanish completely if he didn’t anchor us together. His breath trembled against my cheek.
“Any part of me?” he rasped, voice scraped raw. He drew me closer, his forehead nearly brushing mine. “Lucy… there has never been a moment, not one single breath, when every part of me did not love you with a madness that terrifies me.”
The tears came faster. “You’re lying,” I said, shaking. “You’ve been lying from the start. You’re keeping secrets… you were meeting Lydia… you…”
“Stop.” His voice cracked like a whip, soft but unyielding.
“You doubt me,” he said, more quietly now, “you doubt the servants, this house, your own mind… but do not—” His grip tightened imperceptibly, “—do not ever doubt my love for you.”
His thumb swept across my cheekbone, brushing away a tear even as one of his own slid dark and uninvited down his.
“I love you,” he swore, naked and undone. “Even when you look at me like I’m a stranger. Even when you shake in fear because you think I’m the one hurting you. Even when your words split my heart clean through.”
His fingers curled deeper into my hair, tugging just enough to send a soft gasp spilling from my lips.
“Then why do I feel like I’m losing my mind?” I cried. “Why, Sylum? Tell me why you’re doing this to me?”
His hand slammed against the wall beside my head, the sound echoing like thunder.
I flinched, but he didn’t touch me again.
“Because,” he admitted, voice low, trembling, “if I told you everything, you would run from me.”
“Maybe I should!”
Something dark flashed in his eyes.
“Maybe you should,” he agreed through clenched teeth. “Because watching you unravel is killing me. And yet—” He leaned in, his breath trembling against my mouth, “—God help me, I cannot let you go.”
My lips parted, a sob breaking free.
He devoured the sound.
His mouth met mine, not gentle, not careful, but with a hunger sharpened by terror and longing, and days of watching me slip further from him. It was a kiss that tasted of desperation… and devotion… and the frantic need to prove something.
My hands found the lapels of his shirt, clutching tightly as I felt him breathe me in, like he needed my very air to live.
When he finally tore his lips from mine, it wasn’t to pull away. It was to murmur against my skin.
“If I lose you, Lucy… I lose everything that is precious to me.”
His mouth trailed along my jaw, then over my pulse. Heat shivereddown my spine, pooling low.
“I don’t know what’s real anymore,” I whispered, leaning helplessly into him, my head tipping toward his shoulder.
He cupped my face between both hands, forcing me to look at him.
“This,” he said firmly, his lips brushing mine again, “is real. My love for you is real. Even if you come to despise me for everything else, I will not let you believe I never loved you. I would carve my own heart out and lay it at your feet before I ever allowed such a thing to consume your mind.”
