Page 179 of Captive Ruin

“The worst moment of my life was being dragged onto a terrace by you.”

He watches me, saying nothing, and I can’t hold his gaze. I’m not sure it’s even true. That night, part of me wasn’t averse to what he did, and we both know it.

Besides, he’s done far worse things since.

“I’ll answer your question,” he says, “but please don’t ever do something like this again.”

“Not making any promises,” I mutter. I’m not sure if I mean it or not. I’m no longer certain I do want to die, but is this living? Kept as his captive?

“Please, Amelia. I… couldn’t bear it. I’ll do anything not to lose you.”

“You never had me,” I throw back at him. “I am not yours. I never was yours. Imprisoning me doesn’t make it so! And don’t you dare say the word ‘mine.’”

“Then I’ll do anything to keep you alive,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “For the same reason that I wanted to marry you. Because I love you.”

I stare at him in confusion, trying to reconcile that.

My denial is a reflex. “No, you don’t.” He can’t. It’s not true. Not after what he’s done, how he’s treated me. How can that be love?

“I do,” he insists. “I have since… hell, almost the first day we met.” I open my mouth to protest again, but he holds up a hand, forestalling me. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me, and I wouldn’t expect you to. It’s why I never said anything. But I want the chance to show you. To prove it to you.”

I shake my head, incredulous. Then I laugh, brittle and sharp. I can’t help it.

How I’ve wanted a man to say those words! And now, when one finally does, it’s him? Like this? After all he’s done? It’s so cruel.

I hate him for cheapening it.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say bitterly. “The first day we met? That was sex, not romance. How can you have love without romance?”

He has the decency to look abashed. “I admit it began more as obsession than love.”

“Yeah, that’s more your style,” I mutter.

“But it’s grown,” he says earnestly. “It has, I swear.”

He’s making it worse. Doesn’t he understand this is my dream he’s trampling over? To be told someone loves me and mean it, not in this toxic way, but with genuine care? My eyes fill with tears of frustration, and I dash them away. “Are you even capable of love? I’ve seen no sign of it.”

He draws in a ragged breath, pushing his hand through his hair, a reminder that this man hasn’t slept for the last, what, thirty hours? But I can’t bring myself to feel mercy.

“I think so,” he says at last. “What I feel for you… it’s never been like this before.”

“Obsession isn’t love. Possession isn’t love.”

“It’s… related. Isn’t it?”

I hesitate. Is it? I don’t know. Maybe it is, with him. “Is that the best you can do?”

“No, Little Stray,” he says with a tenderness that threatens to undermine my resolve. “I can do so much more.”

I need to stay angry with him, but I’m so tired, so weak. It’s been an intense conversation, yet also our most honest. And possibly our longest.

It’s exhausting, and I feel the weight of it in my shaky limbs, my body running on nothing and barely recovered.

He said he loved me, more convincingly than I’ve ever heard it before. He’s sat in that chair for a day, watching over me, and I’m certain he hasn’t slept.

Balanced against what he’s done before? It’s confusing. I need time to process and to recover my strength.

I can’t fight him when I’m weak. Hell, I can barely fight him when I’m not.