Back in the room, she settled me onto the bed before joining me beneath the blankets. She stayed close, mindful of every bruise and every raw line stretched across my skin.
Until death do us part—and even then, I’d follow her into the afterlife.
Chapter 70
CEZAR
Lying in bed wide awake, I followed the red roses winding across Lina’s back with my fingertips. They guarded her heart like something sacred. “The tattoo suits you well.” I dipped my head lower, letting my words settle beside her ear. “Especially the color.”
She sighed, shifting closer, and her voice echoed into the dark. “My mother loved red roses. It was just the three of us, so three roses.”
My chest tensed. I moved slower, memorizing every curve, every line of ink etched permanently into her skin. My other hand found my chest, feeling the raised edges of the rose she gave me.
Her voice softened, pride slipping through it with a quiet laugh. “My dad… he used to call me his little red rose.”
The world stopped.
Air trapped in my lungs. My body seized against hers until I couldn’t move. The room tilted around me, threatening to collapse inward.
Little red rose.
Her father’s voice.
That night. That memory.
His little red rose.
Her words lodged in me like shrapnel.
No, no, no, no, no, no.
Don’t react.
Don’t breathe too loud.
Don’t let her feel how you’re breaking.
Don’t let her know the truth lying beside her.
Wolf in sheep’s skin. That’s all I am.
A liar, a monster hiding under her touch.
Everything was my fault—all of her pain and her nightmares, her scars. The childhood that was stolen in a single night. Every fucking part of it runs through my veins. Through my bloodline. Through my father. Yet, here she is, tender and trusting, giving me pieces of her that no one else has ever seen.
I’m filth. I never should’ve put my hands on her.
Tears distorted my vision. I buried my face into her shoulder before she could see it, swallowing the sob trying to break free from my throat. I held myself rigid against her back, barely keeping it together. I wanted to rip myself open, let it all spill out, but I couldn’t. If she ever found out—if she ever looked at me with disgust—I’d burn alive.
How could she ever forgive me once she knew?
How do I survive losing her?
How do I live with this?
I can’t.
I can’t.
