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“I hate all of this.”

He reached for me again.

This time I didn’t move away.

“I told myself surviving was enough.” I wiped angrily at my face. “For years, that was the answer to everything. Stay quiet and survive.”

Rafael’s expression tightened.

“And I did. I survived.” My voice broke. “I’m just tired of survival being the only thing I get.”

I sniffed, trying to breathe.

“I’m—I’m still here,” I said, stumbling over the words.

He pulled me against him.

The second his arms closed around me, whatever control I had left disappeared.

I cried into his chest.

I clutched the front of his shirt and cried until breathing became difficult, while he held the back of my head and let me fall apart.

“I’m so tired,” I said against him. “I’m tired of this place. I’m tired of Father. I’m tired of hearing people hurt and pretending I can live with it because I’m lucky enough not to be the one downstairs.”

He hugged me a little tighter.

“You should’ve grown up somewhere beautiful and safe, spoiled by your mother and surrounded by people who loved you. Not here. You should’ve been raised like the princess you are, not taught to measure your good fortune by whether someone else was being tortured instead of you.”

“There have been times I’ve thought about killing myself, Rafael.”

He went completely still.

“What?”

“I have. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

He pulled back enough to look at my face.

“Isabella.”

“I’m not saying I want to now.”

His face had gone gray with shock.

“But before Lachlan came…” I swallowed. “Sometimes dying seemed like the only door Father couldn’t lock.”

Rafael shut his eyes.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then his hands cupped my face.

“No. Never that. Please, mi niña, never think that way again.”

His voice was rough.

“You should never have been left alone. The death of—”