But because I choose him. Every day. Even when it's hard.
Especially, when it's hard.
Cassia and I reach the stable yard. I slide off her back, my legs shaky from the ride and everything else, then lead her inside. The barn smells like hay, and leather, and horse. It's familiar and grounding.
I unsaddle her, brush her down, check her hooves. She leans into the grooming, content.
"You're a good girl," I murmur. Better than me, probably.
When she's settled in her stall with fresh water and hay, I close the door and head toward the house. The mansion looms ahead. Every window dark except the kitchen where we leave a light on all night.
I slip inside and walk barefoot through halls I've known my entire life. Up the back staircase to the second floor, down the hallway to my room.
Inside, I close the door and lean against it.
What can I change right now?
What can I do tonight to show Legion I'm serious?
That I'm here. That I'm not going anywhere. That he can trust me with whatever's breaking him apart.
I cross to the bathroom. Strip out of the white dress that still smells like him—smoke, and leather, and sex—and then pull on a pair of sleep shorts and an old t-shirt. I wash my face and brush my teeth.
Then… I stare at myself in the mirror.
I look like exactly what I am.
A woman who got thoroughly fucked outside an abandoned grain silo by a man she'd burn the world for.
I turn away from my reflection, walk back into the bedroom, grab my phone from the nightstand, and open Instagram without letting myself think about it too much.
My account stares back at me. Four point two million followers. Hundreds of unread messages. Thousands of comments I haven't looked at in weeks.
I haven't posted since I was kidnapped by my fiancée and everything I thought I knew about this world turned out to be a lie.
I create a post. Don't bother adding a photo, it's not that kind of post. And then… I start typing.
I know there are rumors. So let's address them.
Delete that. Too defensive.
Some of you have questions about my engagement.
Delete. Too vague.
I close my eyes.
Think about Legion in the silo. The way he held me after. The way he thanked me for things I didn't deserve credit for.
The way he looked at me like I was something precious, even while calling himself filthy.
Open my eyes.
Type.
I know there are questions. Rumors. Speculation about what those videos mean, and who I am, and what happens next.
So let me try to answer them—not because I owe explanations, but because for once in my life, I want to tell the truth without a filter between my heart and my words.
