I sat there on the edge of the bed, breath shuddering through my ribs like something was breaking loose inside me.
Belle stared at me with those wide, shocked eyes—brown and gold and drowning in confusion. In hope she shouldn't feel. In trust I didn't deserve.
I let the silence stretch. Let it pull taut between us like wire about to snap. Then I forced the words out. Quiet. Rough. Each syllable scraping my throat raw.
"You should go to him."
Her head snapped up so fast I heard her neck crack. "W-what?"
I swallowed hard against the tightness crushing my windpipe. Against every instinct screaming at me to take it back. To pull her into my lap and never let go. To lock the doors and throw away the keys and keep her here where I could protect her from everything except myself.
"I'll fulfill my end of the deal, Belle." The words tasted like blood. "Your father will be taken care of."
Relief flooded her face—stark and immediate and so beautiful it hurt to witness. Then shock. Then fear flickering underneath like a candle flame in the wind. Her lips parted on a breath that wouldn't come.
"Gideon… what are you saying?"
I forced the next words out before I could stop them. Before survival instinct could claw them back down my throat. "Go. Be with him."
Her eyes filled. Not with anger. Not with triumph. With something worse. Something that looked like grief.
She whispered, "I'll come back."
My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. My broken hand throbbed in time with my pulse, sending sharp jolts of pain up my arm that I barely registered. I shook my head once. Slow. Final. Irrevocable.
"No."
Belle flinched like I'd struck her. Like I'd wrapped my good hand around her throat and squeezed.
"Don't come back," I said quietly, staring at the wall because I couldn't look at her face anymore. Couldn't watch her break and know I was the one holding the hammer. "Stay away from me."
Her breath hitched—small and wounded and so fragile it carved something out of my chest. "Gideon?—"
I looked away. Turned my head toward the window where dawn light filtered through expensive blinds I'd bought to make this place feel less empty. Because if I looked at her another second, I'd take it all back. I'd command her to stay. I'd drag her back to bed and hold her until neither of us could breathe without the other.
And she'd die here.
Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next week.
But eventually, being near me would destroy her the way it destroyed everything I touched.
"If you stay…" I swallowed against razor blades. "You'll get hurt. And I can't—I won't let that happen."
The mattress shifted as she stood. I felt the loss of her weight like losing a limb. Heard fabric rustle as she grabbed clothes from the chair. Sensed her hovering there—torn between running and staying—and I prayed to a God I didn't believe in that she'd choose herself this time. Choose freedom. Choose life. Choose anything except me.
"I don't want to leave like this."
Her voice cracked down the middle.
I closed my eyes. Pressed my good hand against my thigh hard enough that pain bloomed beneath my palm—something sharp and grounding that kept me from reaching for her.
"There's no other way."
Silence stretched.
Endless.
Suffocating.
