My skin crawled at the thought of him coming closer.

“But, no matter how this will backfire, no matter if my plan fails and everything I’ve tried to avoid comes into play, I can’t—I can’t do that to you.” His eyes were wild and dilated, thanks to drugs and liquor. “Nila, I swear on my fucking life, no one touched you. Kestrel knocked you out, so we could do what we needed behind the scenes.” He punched his chest. “But I give you my word as a Hawk that the only person who touched you was me.” His eyes fell on my nightgown. “I dressed you, kissed you, put you to bed. And then I curled up on the floor to ward off any more assholes. Even though I’ve proven I’m not worthy, even though you hate me—as you should—I couldn’t live with myself if I told you a lie on top of all the others.”

A sob wrenched through my chest.

Oh, thank God.

Thank, thank God.

They hadn’t touched me.

I almost puddled to the floor in relief. But the complications in those sentences—the truth, the distress—forced me to keep pushing, keep talking. How could he take my anger and twist it so inexplicably? How could he warm my hate so it boomeranged back on me and made me crumble?

Wrapping my arms around myself, I took a step closer. My need to hurt him hadn’t receded but beneath my violent rage, there was the incessant urge to hug him, touch him—fix both of us.

He shied away. “Don’t.” His voice was strangled—a sharp warning to keep my distance.

We stood apart. Two figurines in an emerald sea of carpeting. The air was cool, coaxing my temper to simmer. Not being allowed to touch was torture. I couldn’t deny myself the need to connect—either to strike him or stroke him, it didn’t matter.

Ignoring his beg for space, I closed the gap and touched the back of his arm. My eyes flared at how hot he was—how unnaturally warm for his normal frigid form. “Thank you for finally being honest.”

I swallowed. “You can’t keep fighting. Whatever it is you’re going through. Whatever reason that’s making you take drugs and obey the vilest man in history, you have to stop.” My voice lowered. “You’ll end up killing yourself if you don’t get help.”

He tumbled backward, his voice raspy and low. “You can’t help me. Nobody can.”

“Don’t be a cliché, Jethro. Everyone can be helped.”

He snorted, pain layering upon pain.

I hugged myself again, trembling and quaking, struggling with the thick tension in the room. “Tell me and I give you my word I’ll listen.”

What are you doing?

“If you tell me the truth, I won’t judge. I’ll stay quiet and withhold judgement until everything makes sense.”

You’re truly giving him another chance?

I gritted my teeth.

Everybody deserved a second chance if they were willing to admit a lifetime of troubles. My father handed me over, even though he knew what my mother went through—I forgave him. My brother made me a laughing stock of the gossip columns—I forgave him. And Jethro? He made me fall in love with the bad guy and trade innocence for corruption. I fell for him when he was closed off and arctic. If he thawed and let me in, there would be no greater gift. No symbol deeper than two souls screaming to connect.

“I’ll be able to forgive you if you tell me,” I whispered. “I’m here for you. How many times do I need to tell you that?”

Fury twisted his face, dissolving his disbelief at my confession. “You say you won’t judge, yet I feel your hatred toward me, Nila. You say you’re there for me, but how far will that willingness go?” He stepped back again, moving to the door.

He can’t leave.

“You know nothing. And it’s best if you continue knowing—”

“Shut up.” I stalked toward him, my toes sinking into carpet. “Shut up and tell me. Tell me what you’re hiding.” My voice remained level, not rising to anger once again budding inside.

This wasn’t a fight. This wasn’t an ultimatum.

This was the end.

The breaking point of everything that’d been crushing us deeper and deeper into untruths. The sooner he let himself snap, the better we would be.

Sighing heavily, his shoulders rolled. “I wish I’d never met you. I wish all of this would disappear.”

His words sliced a wound deep and true. His voice was a horrible blade; cutting my arteries and making me bleed a river.

“Listen to me, Jethro Kite Hawk,” I said through fresh tears. “I’m only going to say this one more time. If you listen and see what I’m offering, all of this could be different. But if you don’t; if you choose your family over me again, if you push me away and pretend that what exists between us isn’t worth fighting for, then I’m done. Do you get it?”

My voice gathered momentum. “You’ve hurt me. Everything inside wants to switch off and cut you from my soul. I’m close. So damn close to that—to slicing you free and never talking to you again.”

He hunched into himself with every word.

I swallowed back a sob. I kept going. “There’s a place inside me that’s fading. What I feel for you is dying, and once it’s gone, I won’t have the strength to get it back. Do you think I enjoyed paying the Third Debt? Do you think I enjoyed having Kes do what he did?” Tears spilled with no authority. “It was absolute torture, Jethro. The worst one I’ve had to pay because you weren’t there for me. You weren’t there to feel my pain or help me get through it. You left me! Do you have any idea how much that killed me? To think we had something, only for you to walk out and deliver me to that horror?”