And yet here I was.
Ares rolled me onto my back after he nutted, eyes locked on mine.
“I always liked how you never tap out on me,” he murmured.
His voice was softer than usual, less cocky, less dangerous.
That’s how I knew something was wrong, and he didn’t know how to tell me.
I whispered, “Why are you going to Marseille?”
He exhaled a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Family shit.”
“That doesn’t sound like just family shit, and you’ve been acting weird all night.”
He shook his head, then finally said it.
“They picked her.”
I frowned. “Picked who?”
He stared up at the ceiling for a second like he was trying to organize his thoughts.
“The woman I’m supposed to marry.”
“So you finally know who it is?”
He nodded, and then he said words I wasn’t expecting.
“She’s… fucked up.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
He sat up, rubbing his hands over his face.
“She’s my best friend’s sister. I ain’t seen her in years. The family kept a lot of things quiet. Turns out she’s been out here struggling. Drugs. Streets. Whole life sideways.”
I sat up with the sheet clutched to my chest.
“Really?”
He nodded again, frowning.
“They handed me a problem and called it tradition.”
The little he had told me was a lot, and carried weight.
This wasn’t Ares bragging about power or playing games. This was a man realizing something bigger than him had already been decided.
“She knows who you are?” I asked.
He laughed dryly. “She barely knows herself right now.”
Silence filled the room.
I watched him carefully, and he looked soul-tired.
