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“I was ungrateful. I was cruel. And all this time, you—” She broke off, shaking her head.

Shelby stood motionless, stunned by the vehemence of her confession, by the sheer weight of her emotions crashing down upon them both.

“I owe you a debt I can never repay,” she whispered, her voice husky with emotion. “And now that I know—now that I understand all you have done for me—I shall not let you make any more sacrifices for me. I can only hope that, while I do not expect we can ever be friends, you can, at least, forgive me for how I treated you.”

Her breaths came fast and uneven, each exhale ragged.

A restless energy hummed between them.

Shelby swallowed hard, no reply, flippant or taciturn, coming to mind.

Because, in truth, he had nothing to forgive.

Roxina might rail against herself, cursing her past transgressions, but she did not seem to understand—he had done nothing to earn her gratitude. He had never intended for her to discover what he had done for her over the years, nor could he have predicted she would care so much.

And yet—she did. Passionately.

The air between them crackled with an unspoken, undeniable energy, as if the night itself held its breath, waiting. They stood together, tethered by something inescapable—whether fate, chance, or something far more elusive or dangerous.

Jaw sagging, Roxina pointed a shaky finger toward him. “You.”

Her whisper struck him harder than a cudgel.

Shelby’s pulse pounded, each beat slamming through his veins. He tensed, bracing for the inevitable.

“Mrs. Beale was right.” Roxina retreated a few paces, her shocked gaze locked on Shelby. Beneath her cloak, her chest rose and fell in quick succession, reminding him of a cornered mouse. The space between them widened, yet tension crushed him like a vise.

She knows.

Somehow, he had given himself away.

Brow furrowed, Roxina clenched her hands at her sides.

Her accusing look skewered him as the bastions he had erected of secrecy, deception, and protection crumbled, stripping him of any remaining defenses he possessed against her claiming his heart irrevocably.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she parted her lips as if she struggled to force the words from her throat. She licked her lower lip at once a vulnerable maiden and a fierce Amazonian warrior.

“You are the anonymous source who sent me money all these months.” Jagged with incredulity, hoarse with betrayal, her words rang harshly in the night.

“I am.” He gave a sharp nod, the vice tightening around his ribs, so unforgiving he could barely draw a breath.

The truth stood between them now, exposed and irreversible.

She blinked hard; the battle waging inside her was clear in the rigid set of her shoulders, wide-accusing eyes, stubborn set of her delicate jaw, and timorous lines of her mouth. Her focus remained locked on him—her eyes, pools of anger, shock, wonder, and something else which sent heat sluicing through him.

Her silence crashed into him, devastating and inescapable.

Deserved.

Shelby waited, slowing his breath to keep himself calm, though every instinct screamed for him to do something.

What?

Apologize?

What the hell for?

If not for him, she might well have found herself on the streets in unthinkable circumstances.