“She took it off.”
“Good.”
I looked at him.
He pulled the chair closer and sat with the tired patience of a man who had seen too many brothers confuse pain with honor.
“You alive enough for hard truth?” he asked.
“No.”
“Too bad.”
I closed my eyes.
Callum’s voice stayed calm.
That was worse than anger.
“You didn’t do Georgia a kindness by choosing her with half a heart.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. Not yet.” He leaned forward. “You keep thinking suffering makes you decent. Like if you bleed enough, lie still enough, deny yourself enough, all the damage becomes noble.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“You don’t marry one woman to punish yourself for loving another,” he said. “That’s not honor. That’s cowardice with a ring.”
The words hit so hard my breath left.
Callum let them sit.
He was good at that.
Then he said, “You love Destiny.”
I swallowed.
No point lying.
Not now.
“Yeah.”
“How long?”
I closed my eyes.
Fire.
Smoke.
Blood on her mouth.
Red paint on her hands.
Cabo moonlight.
