I should be horrified. Part of me is—the part that was raised to believe in law, in justice, in letting the proper authorities handle things. But another part of me, the part thatspent the drive here thinking about my mother's wasted decades of fear, feels something else entirely.
Relief. Gratitude. A fierce, primal satisfaction that the man who hurt Gabriel—who would have hurt me, if he'd had the chance—is gone from this world.
"The Brotherhood helped cover it up," Gabriel continues. "Dwayne was one of theirs, but he'd become a liability—too reckless, too many risks. They were looking for an excuse to be rid of him, and I provided one. In exchange for their silence, I became... useful to them. My first kill at sixteen, my second at eighteen, and so on. They turned me into what I am today."
"A monster."
"Yes." He doesn't flinch from the word. "I've killed many people, Poppy. Some deserved it. Some were simply in the way. I don't lose sleep over any of them, and I won't pretend otherwise." He crosses to where I'm standing, close enough to touch but not touching. "I am exactly what you think I am. The question is whether you can live with that."
I look up at him—this man who has terrified me and protected me, who has controlled me and consumed me, who carries the blood of my father on his hands.
"Dwayne Thomas was not my father," I say slowly. "He was a monster who happened to contribute genetic material to my existence. My mother spent twenty-five years running from him, hiding from him, letting fear of him shape every moment of her life. I won't do the same."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I don't mourn him. I'm saying that if you hadn't killed him, he would have kept hurting children—maybe even me, eventually, if he'd ever found us. I'm saying that theboy you were did something terrible and necessary, and I'm not going to punish you for surviving the only way you knew how."
Gabriel's composure finally cracks. I see it happen—the careful blankness giving way to something raw, desperate, almost frightened. He reaches for me, then stops himself, hand hovering in the air between us.
"I don't deserve your forgiveness."
"Maybe not. But I'm not offering forgiveness." I close the distance myself, taking his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. "I'm offering a choice. My choice. To stay, to build something with you. Not because you've manipulated me into it, or because I'm too afraid to leave, but because Iwantto. Because despite everything—maybe because of everything—I see you. The real you. And I'm not running."
"Poppy—"
"I need you to understand something." I hold his gaze, willing him to hear me. "I'm not your victim. I'm not your possession. I'm not a broken thing for you to fix or a prize for you to win. If I stay, I stay as your equal. Your partner. Can you accept that?"
For a long moment, he doesn't answer. I watch emotions flicker across his face—disbelief, hope, fear, longing—more feeling than I've ever seen him show.
"Yes," he breathes. "Whatever you need. Whatever you want. I'll try—I'll learn—"
He kisses me then, soft and desperate, his hands cupping my face like I'm something precious. I sink into him, letting myself feel the relief of surrender—not to him, but to my own decision. My own choice.
When we finally break apart, we're both trembling.
"There's something else," I say. "Something I need to tell you."
He tenses slightly, bracing for another blow. "What is it?"
I step back, putting a few feet of distance between us. I need to see his face for this—need to watch his reaction without the distraction of his touch.
"When I came here tonight, I didn't know if I was staying or leaving. I didn't know what I would decide until I was already through the door." I take a breath, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. "But there's a reason I had to decide. A reason I couldn't just... walk away and never look back."
Gabriel's eyes narrow, his body going still with predatory focus. "Tell me."
"I'm pregnant."
The words fall into the silence like stones into deep water.
Gabriel doesn't move. Doesn't blink. For a long, terrible moment, I'm not even sure he's breathing. He just stares at me, his face utterly blank, as if I've spoken in a language he doesn't understand.
"What?"
"I'm pregnant." My voice cracks on the repetition. "About six weeks, according to the test. I found out a week ago, and I've been trying to figure out what to do ever since, and then Zach happened, and I learned about Dwayne, and everything fell apart, and I—"
"You're pregnant."
"Yes."
