“I understand you could have killed me and didn’t.” Another step. “I understand you risked your life to save mine.” Another. “I understand you could have disappeared at any point, but you chose to stay.”
“Strategic decisions.”
“Bullshit!” The word cracked between us again. “Stop hiding behind your past. You want distance because you’re scared.”
“I destroyed everyone who got close to me,” I said, my voice dropping low. “I manipulated them. Used them. Broke them. Killed them!”
“That was Ronan Graves.” Her voice softened, but her eyes remained fierce. “You’ve been given something most people never get—a chance to choose who you become, regardless of who you were.”
“And if I become him again?” The question emerged before I could stop it.
She was silent for a long moment, studying my face. “Are you afraid you will? Or afraid you won’t?”
The question hit me like a physical blow. “What does that mean?”
“I think you’re more afraid of becoming someone worthy of love than returning to the monster you were.” She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of coffeeon her breath. “Because if you’re worthy of love, you have something to lose.”
The observation cut through my defenses. My mouth opened, but no words emerged.
“You don’t get to hide behind Ronan Graves,” Maeve said, her voice trembling with intensity. “Whatever you did then—it’s done. What matters is what you do now. Who you choose to be now.”
We stood inches apart, both breathing heavily. The space between us vibrated with unsaid words and impossible choices. Her eyes burned into mine, refusing to let me retreat into the comfortable emptiness of the machine I was programmed to be.
I turned away, unable to bear the weight of her gaze. “You should go. Pack your things. We’ll find another.”
Her hand caught my arm, fingers digging into muscle. “No.” The word hit like a command, not a plea.
When I turned back, her face was inches from mine, jaw set with determination. “I’m not letting you do this.”
“You don’t understand what I...”
Her hand rose to my face, palm against my cheek. The gentle touch silenced me more effectively than any command. “I understand exactly what you’re doing.”
“Maeve.”
“I’m not Sofia,” she said, her thumb tracing my cheekbone. “I’m not some breakable thing you can destroy.”
The name—Sofia—jolted through me. “You have no idea what I did to her!”
“No, I don’t. Andneither do you—not really.” Her eyes never left mine. “You have files and reports, but you don’t have memories. You don’t know why she made her choice.”
“The evidence...”
“Tells a story written by someone else.” Her other hand rose to cup my face. “I’m writing my own story. And I want you in it.”
Her words hit somewhere deep, cracking foundations I didn’t know existed. Something hot and tight built in my chest, threatening to break free.
I looked at her—really looked at her. The woman who was fighting for me when I couldn’t fight for myself. The woman who saw past the weapon to the man beneath. The woman I was about to push away forever.
If this was goodbye, let me have this one last memory to carry into the darkness.
Then her mouth crashed into mine, stealing whatever empty justification I was about to offer. The kiss carried all the fury of our argument—demanding, insistent, brooking no retreat. Her teeth caught my lower lip, the sharp edge of pain cutting through my defenses.
My body responded before my mind could intervene, hands finding her waist, pulling her hard against me. The kiss transformed into something hungrier, more desperate—as if we were both trying to consume each other before reason returned.
I slammed her against the wall, lifting her with one fluid motion, her legs wrapping tight around my waist. Our bodies collided with savage urgency—need obliterating caution,hunger drowning doubt. She tore at my shirt, buttons flying across the floor as fabric ripped. My hands shoved under her top, finding skin burning beneath my touch, fingers digging hard enough to bruise.
“You don’t want this,” I said between brutal kisses, one last pathetic attempt at protection.
