"You've always been beautiful, Scarletta. Even when you were hiding in that ratty hoodie and living off Lucky Charms. Even when you thought no one saw you." I keep my voice low, soothing. "But this—what you've done over the past six months—it's fucking stunning. You've grown up. Matured. Become the woman you were always meant to be."
A tear slides down her cheek.
"Come here, baby," I whisper. "Let me hold you. Just for a minute. That's all."
She shakes her head, but her feet keep moving forward. One step. Another. Closer.
"You're doing so good," I murmur. Encouraging. Sweet. "Such a good girl. Just a little closer."
Another tear falls. Then another. She's crying now—silent tears streaming down her face while she stands there clutching that towel like it's the only thing keeping her together.
"Sit, Scarletta."
Her knees bend. She lowers herself onto my lap—awkward at first, hesitant, like she doesn't trust this. Doesn't trust me.
But she sits anyway.
I wrap my arms around her immediately. Pull her close against my chest. One hand slides up into that platinum hair—so soft, so perfect—while the other settles at the small of her back.
"There you go," I breathe against her temple. "Good girl. Such a good little slut."
She breaks.
The sob that tears out of her is raw and desperate and everything I've been waiting for. She buries her face against my shoulder and cries—really cries—while I hold her, and stroke her hair, and tell her how good she is.
"I've got you," I whisper. "Right here. I've got you."
Her whole body shakes with it. Seven months of holding it together, seven months of pretending she's fine, seven months of running—all of it comes pouring out while I sit there and let her fall apart in my arms.
"Shhhh," I soothe, fingers threading through her hair. "You're okay. You're safe."
She's not safe. Not even close. But she needs to hear it anyway.
I rock her slightly. Back and forth. Gentle motion while my hand strokes down her spine, over the curve of her lower back,then up again. Repetitive. Calming. The way you'd comfort a frightened animal.
"So beautiful," I murmur against her hair. "So fucking perfect."
Her crying starts to slow. The sobs become quieter, more controlled. She's getting herself together again—rebuilding those walls brick by brick.
I won't let her.
"One last time," I say softly. "And then I'm gone. I promise."
She pulls back enough to look at me. Her eyes are red, nose running. She's a mess.
She's gorgeous.
"You promise?" Her voice cracks on the words.
"I promise." I stroke her cheek with my thumb, wiping away tears. "One last time, and then I walk away. I won't come back until you come to me."
She searches my face. Looking for the lie. Looking for the trap.
She won't find it.
Because this time—this one fucking time—I'm telling the truth.
If we're going to be together forever… it has to be her choice.
