"You're right." He ran a hand through his hair. "I made choices about your life without asking. I kept things from you that you had every right to know. I told myself it was protection, but it was control. Fear disguised as care."
She couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. Because the Reaper, the terrifying Death Lord who'd made her life hell for weeks, was actually admitting he was wrong.
"I was terrified." His voice cracked on the word. "Terrified of you becoming a target before you were ready. Terrified of every ambitious Death Lord trying to claim you. Terrified of losing you before I even had you."
His eyes met hers, and she saw it, the vulnerability beneath—the loneliness beneath the control, the desperate, aching want that mirrored her own.
"I should have told you. I should have trusted you to handle it instead of deciding for you. I was wrong, and I'm sorry, and I know that doesn't fix anything. But I didn't lie to you?—"
"That's semantics," she said, but her voice had lost its edge.
"Maybe." He exhaled slowly. "But a lie would have meant I was trying to deceive you. What I did was try to protect you from truths I thought would hurt you. It was wrong. It was arrogant. It was exactly the kind of controlling behavior I despise in others, and I did it to the one person who deserved better from me."
Damn him. Her eyes were burning. She blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.
"You still did it," she whispered. "You still kept me ignorant while everyone else knew."
"I know."
"You still watched me struggle with questions about myself and said nothing."
"I know."
"And tonight—" She had to pause, had to swallow past the lump in her throat. "Tonight you humiliated me in front of everyone."
His expression shifted. The vulnerability didn't disappear, but hunger rose alongside it.
"Tonight," he said slowly, "I watched every male in that room put their hands on you."
His shadows began to move again, sliding across the floor toward her.
"Watched them hold you close. Heard them make you laugh. Thatbright sound you so rarely give to anyone." His voice dropped lower. "And I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Because I'd destroyed any right to claim you."
The shadows curled around her ankles—cool silk against her heated skin.
"Do you have any idea what that was like?" He stepped closer, and she didn't retreat. Couldn't. "Watching you give them all the warmth you've been denying me?"
"You deserved to suffer," she breathed.
"I did." His agreement was instant. "I deserve every moment of it. But that doesn't mean it didn't tear me apart."
The shadows climbed higher, teasing the hem of her dress, and want curled through her anyway.
"Good." The word came out breathless. "Maybe now you understand how it felt. Being kept outside. Being shut out."
"I understand." His hand lifted, hovering near her face but not quite touching. "I've understood since the moment you walked out. Since I've spent every night alone, knowing you were hurting because of the choices I made."
She was trembling. Hating herself for it. Hating him for making her feel this way when she was still so angry, still so hurt.
"Tell me something." His voice dropped to a low growl. "Did you like it tonight? Having their hands on you?"
"That's not?—"
"Did it make you feel the way you're feeling right now?" His eyes were dark with intensity. "Heart pounding? Breath catching?"
She pressed her lips together, refusing to answer. But the trembling gave her away—pulse racing, skin flushed, heat coiling tight in her core.
"No," she finally admitted. The word escaped before she could stop it.
