Marry me. Her proposition runs through my head, taking my brain for a spin and leaving me dizzy with its implications.
I shouldn’t even entertain the thought, but what if… The what-if will be the death of me.
The doctors assured me there’s only a very slim chance her memories will return. I took it as a good sign, especially since what happened then was pure gore—a traumatic event that made her dissociate.
Her reaction was so profound that I needed her brain to completely shut me out. To ensure her well-being, I had to stay away. Yet she found a way back, becoming an associate of the Syndicate and crafting a new existence on the ashes of her former self and our love.
If I am a king, I am the king of ashes.
Fisting my hands at my sides, I stare at the sky, darkening with an impending storm, just like the one that has been ravaging my insides for years.
I could not protect her then, a fool in love who ignored the world we inherited. I won’t repeat that mistake. No one will catch me unprepared or come close enough to steal her from me again.
Keeping her alive is what matters most. The task has been challenging, considering her penchant for ignoring danger. No, she leads instead of hiding behind her men. It’s a wonder my hair hasn’t gone gray from the constant stress and worry.
Keeping her safe is my top priority as I lead my empire. My days are too long, and my nights too short to recharge.
Picturing my dream pushes me toward her. Selfish to my core. Weak for a slice of paradise.
With her not knowing who I am or the history we share, it’s possible to give in to the lie that poisons my lungs and seizes my breath.
The problem is not making her fall in love with me, but making sure I never slip. Keeping some distance is paramount.
My phone rings, yanking me out of my thoughts, and I accept Conrad’s call.
“What is taking you so long? This is the perfect chance. This is what you’ve been working toward,” he says, his tone ringing with incredulity.
Is she impatient, anxiously awaiting my presence, just as I am hers?
“Don’t forget who you’re talking to,” I grit out.
“Sorry, boss, but you should know who you’re dealing with.” Care for her threads through the line. While the rational side of me rejoices in the knowledge, jealousy rears its head, making me want to bite his off for being so close to her when I couldn’t be.
“Tonight,” I say, hanging up, my decision made.
God help me, because another rejection might put me in an early grave.
I haven’t delayed the inevitable out of punishment, but to grasp the last strands of my sanity. As if denying her were possible. Reason disintegrates. One frail thread after another slips through my fingers, leaving me with no alternative but to go to her.
I can’t even tolerate the idea of her being with someone else. Even if she had chosen someone else, he would not have survived.
Glancing around my penthouse, I try to see it through her eyes, but we share no memories here. Nothing could poke her brain.
Walking into my office, I slump into the chair, my fingers lift the photo of us from the desk. The edges are brittle from being clasped; the colors smudged from how often I caressed her face, wishing for the actual connection.
I must forget this version of her to live with the woman she has become.
Love her hard enough, she will never look at me as if I betrayed her.
Love her deeply enough, she will never question the truth.
This endeavor encompasses the struggle of my life.
Few people know my secret, a secret I killed for and will kill for.
I lock the photo in my desk before changing into black coveralls. I slip into my boots and arm myself with a knife, a Glock, and a tranquilizer gun.
She wants to test me, so be it.
