Stephanie’s perfectly shaped eyebrows press together in a confused frown, and she thinks for several agonizing moments. “Yes,” she breathes.
My gut clenches, my chest caving in on itself as the weight of that fact threatens to crush the life out of me. “Have you considered that maybe this recurring nightmare is your mind processing what happened to you that put you in the hospital?” I suggest—knowing that, even if it didn’t happen at that moment, these men were responsible for Stephanie’s amnesia.
She nods, her lips pressing together as her frown deepens. “It could be, but it also doesn’t make any sense—the name Don Augusta isn’t familiar to me.”
But it makes perfect sense to me.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, aching to be spoken into existence.
Now is the time I should tell her everything.
Clearly, she rememberssomething. And she deserves to know what happened to her—whyit happened to her, and who is responsible.
Me.
I’m the reason she was taken—so my father could teach me a lesson about love, and how those we care for are a weakness.
He took Stephanie from me to put me in my place. Snuffed out the life she had—the one we’d built together—so he could better manipulate me.
It’s a crushing realization.
And one I can’t bring myself to confess to her. Not when she’s still trembling in the wake of her nightmare, her tears still wet on her cheeks.
“Whatever happened, you survived it,” I say instead. “Those men are gone. You’re safe, and I’m here,” I promise. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Stephanie nods, and she snuggles closer to me, resting her ear against my chest. “Thank you,” she murmurs so quietly, I almost miss it.
I press a soft kiss to the crown of her head as my chest aches with guilt-laced tenderness. “For what?”
“For listening—and for staying after,” she breathes.
“Always,” I rasp, my throat raw and burning with emotion.
I hold her close, cherishing the woman I’m so madly and deeply in love with that it hurts.
And gradually, her breaths even out and slow into the soft sounds of sleep.
God, I hope talking about it will help keep the nightmares at bay.
She needs rest, and a small part of me worries that the more she dreams about it, the closer she’ll get to discovering the truth—the truth about me.
I know that makes me a horrible person.
But I also know that this happy little bubble we’re living in is going to pop the moment she realizes who I really am.
And I dread that day.
After Stephanie’s story, I can’t sleep.
I stay awake late into the night trying to wrap my mind around what she told me.
More and more, it makes sense—the callous way my father said I could marry a proper match just days after Stephanie went missing.
We hadn’t even received news that she was dead yet, and I’d flown off the handle when he suggested I move on just like that.
Then there was his anger when he found out I slaughtered the entire family responsible for taking her.
My father had claimed I’d overreacted, made an impulsive decision that might come back to haunt the family, whenStephanie was nothing more than a fuck toy—even though the family was supposedly our enemy.
