Chapter 43
Until I Say So
Asher
Days pass in a blur of fever and darkness.
When I finally surface, the world is slow to come into focus. My body is heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and pain. The air against my skin is cool, a stark contrast to the relentless heat I remember. My breath comes slow and shallow, my thoughts sluggish as flashes of memory flicker through my mind—whispers, soft hands against my burning skin, and a voice murmuring my name like a tether to reality.
Violet.
I turn my head slightly, and there she is, still wrapped around me. Her arm drapes over my chest, her face tucked close, and her breath steady and warm against my skin.She didn’t leave.She could have walked away. But she stayed. Even after seeing me weak, after hearing the things I barely remember saying about my sister, and about my father—about my shame, she stayed. Something tightens in my chest, something raw and unguarded. I don’t push it away. Not yet.
Relief wars with disbelief, tightening my chest.Did she stay because she wanted to? Or was it obligation, a sense of duty to see me through the fever?The thought unsettles me, because I don’t know which answer I want more.
My fingers twitch, brushing against her arm, AND needing to confirm that she’s real. The movement stirs her, and she shifts slightly before her lashes flutter open. Sleep clings to her features, softening the sharp lines of her usual wariness. Then her eyes meet mine, and for a second, something like relief flickers there.
“Asher,” she breathes, sitting quickly, her hand pressing lightly against my forehead before trailing down to my chest. “You’re awake.”
Her fingers brush over the bandages at my ribs, careful but firm, checking the wound. I let her, watching the way her brows knit together in concern. The warmth of her touch lingers, but something shifts in her expression—she remembers.
She pulls back slightly, her walls rising again. “Your fever broke,” she says, voice quieter now. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been shot,” I rasp, the smirk coming instinctively.
She huffs, shaking her head, but her lips twitch just slightly before the worry returns. She hesitates, then, with careful deliberation, says, “I saw the news.”
I say nothing, but something sharp coils in my gut.
“Rinaldi,” she continues, searching my face. “Did he do this? Was he the one who set me up?”
I don’t answer immediately. The betrayal is still fresh, burning through me like acid, coiling tight in my chest. It’s not just anger—it’s guilt, shame, and something deeper and more corrosive.
Rinaldi’s words still echo in my head, his fury carved into every syllable. He blamed me for Serafina’s death. And when he pulled the trigger, I was too distracted by love and grief to see what was coming, I was unfocused, my grief had made me vulnerable. Love had almost killed me.
My father's voice echoes in my head, low and cold."Don’t ever let this happen to you, son. Weakness gets you killed."
I can see the uncertainty in her eyes, the way she’s trying to piece everything together.
“Yes” I admit, voice tight.
Her throat bobs as she swallows hard. I don’t know if it’s guilt or fear, but something in her shifts. Her fingers curl in the fabric of the sheets, knuckles white.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. Her voice is thick, heavy with emotion. “I didn’t mean for any of this. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”
“Don’t,” I cut her off, my voice rough but not unkind. I don’t want her apology. I don’t need it. I had to do it. For her. She might not understand, might never see it that way, but there was no other choice. I had to save her.
She nods, looking down at her hands before exhaling, shaky. Then, after a long pause, she lifts her chin and meets my gaze. "So... that's it? After everything, it doesn't matter?"Her voice wavers, searching my face for something—anything. She hesitates, swallowing hard before whispering, "I guess... I can leave now?"
The words hit me like a blade to the ribs. A slow, precise cut that I should have expected, but it still twists deep. She stayed for days. Held me through the fever. Listened to my broken words. And yet, the first chance she gets—
I exhale through my nose, any trace of vulnerability vanishing as the walls slam back into place. “No,” I say simply.
Her brows pull together. “What?”
“You’re not leaving,” I repeat, my voice quieter this time, deadlier. “Not until I say so.”
Her breath stutters, a tremor running through her. "But—"
