A beat passed.
Then another.
I couldn't leave it there. Couldn't let that weakness hang in the air unanswered.
So I gave her the only other truth I had. "I just know I want to take care of you."
Her breath stopped.
Mine followed.
Because I hadn't meant to say it. Hadn't meant to admit it—to her, to myself, to the night pressing in around us.
Taking care of her wasn't part of the deal. Wasn't part of the revenge. Wasn't supposed to feel like need.
But it did.
And now she knew.
I reached for her face—slowly, carefully. Brushed a damp strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture too gentle. Too intimate. Too much like something a man did when he cared.
My fingers lingered against her temple. Just for a second.
Then I pulled back. Stood. Too fast. Too abrupt.
Because if I stayed—if I sat there one more second with her looking at me like that—I'd touch her.
And if I touched her, I wouldn't stop. Not this time. Not when she was soft and vulnerable and looking at me, like maybe I wasn't the monster she wanted me to be.
I walked to the door. Each step deliberate. Controlled. The handle turned under my palm. Cool metal. Grounding.
I paused in the doorway. Looked back. She watched me—eyes wide, unblinking, filled with something I couldn't decipher.
The door closed between us. Gentle. Not a slam. Not punishment.
A boundary.
For the first time since she'd signed that contract, I was the one walking away.
And it felt like surrender.
Chapter 17
Belle
I woke up wrong. Not sick. Not injured. Just…
Wrong. Wrong in my body. In my mind. In the hollow ache behind my ribs that shouldn't be there.
The bed was warm. Soft. Empty except for me.
Sunlight crept through the curtains, pale and accusing.
I sat up slowly, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes until I saw spots. Trying to push back the memories that flooded in all at once.
Yesterday.
God. Yesterday.
