I freeze, for just a breath. Because fuck… A part of me believed she’d let me bear the burden.That she’d let me be the one to end him—to become the executioner she shouldn’t have to be.
I wanted to be the one to erase him from her life, to pull the trigger and wipe away his stain.
To spare her the sound, the recoil, the weight of watching his body hit the floor.
But I see it, clear as day in the way her eyes burn.In the hard line of her jaw.In the way her breath barely falters, like she’s holding the weight of the world inside her chest.
This isn’t about revenge.It’s not about blood.
It’s about reclaiming what was stolen from her—her voice, her power, her goddamn sense of self.
This isn’t my moment to take.It never was.
So I let go of the need to shield her from this, of the part of me that aches to pull the trigger.Instead, I give her what she came for.What she fought and bled for.
Because this choice, this justice, this reckoning—it’s hers.Every last piece of it.
My hand moves toward her, the weight of the gun heavy in my palm.
Her fingers graze mine, trembling slightly—barely holding herself together, as if one more touch might shatter her.
Then she takes it.Firm.Certain.
As though she’s held it a thousand times in her mind. As if the steel always belonged to her, never to me.
Her hand wraps around the grip like it’s part of her now, an extension of her rage, her grief, her goddamn will to survive.
And in that second, I know.She’s taking the power back.
She raises the gun and aims at the man who sold her out.
The muzzle meets his forehead… clean, centered, absolute.
Her finger wraps around the trigger.No twitch.No hesitation.
Just silence, thick, crushing, like it could smother us both.
I can’t breathe.My chest locked tight, the air too thick to pull in.
But I don’t move.I don’t blink.
I just watch her, the girl I love, the woman who could bring this entire fucking empire to its knees, standing there, steady.Unshaken.
She’s fucking beautiful in this moment.The way she’s holding that gun with such calm, the power in her stillness, her rage simmering just beneath the surface.
And if she pulls that trigger… If she ends this here?I won’t feel an ounce of remorse.
I’ll watch him fall like the piece of shit he is, and I won’t feel a damn thing—except the satisfaction of her finally taking back what’s hers.I’ll hold her in the aftermath, right there on the blood-stained floor.I’ll fuck her in his blood, and show her how much I love her.Show her how goddamn beautiful it is when she owns everything—her pain, her power, her future.
But she pauses.And the quiet suddenly feels louder.Her eyes stay locked on him, her breath shallow but steady.
I hold my breath too, watching her.Waiting.This is her moment, and whatever she chooses, I’ll stand beside her.
Seconds crawl by, each one heavy, like the whole world is pressing down on us.
Then finally, slowly, her hand begins to lower.
The gun drifts down with it, her grip still tight, knuckles white, but it’s no longer aimed at him.
