Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
How did I screw this up so badly?
It’s just, hearing about him murdering someone freaked me out. Fear twisted everything. I knew on some level that was part of his shadow profession, but still, hearing it out loud was like a punch to the gut.
I should be saying more. I should explain, empathize, tell him how much it hurts me to know that he’s been carrying around this terrible weight for so long.
It explains a lot about him, especially why he’s so angry with himself for sleeping with Allison.
Except I can’t get past it.
He disappears upstairs. I watch him go and flinch when his bedroom door closes.
I fucked up. I know I fucked up.
But my whole life has been defined by comfort and safety and the mainstream world. I’m a rule-follower. I’m not violent.
Despite all this, Conlan’s still like a beacon in my mind, drawing me toward him in ever-tightening spirals, only I’m afraid that I’ve knocked us off-center and I’ll never reach him again.
Chapter 27
Isabel
I spend all night thinking about the way I handled that conversation. It gnaws at me like a virus eating at my mind. I don’t get much sleep.
I keep picturing a young Conlan diving into black water, getting more and more desperate, searching for his friend and finding nothing, knowing she’s down there somewhere in the darkness but unable to reach her.
How he’s been in that lake ever since.
Never really out of it, not exactly.
That’s how trauma breaks us. It’s never gone, not really. It lingers in the body, in the memory, in the scars it leaves and the fears it feeds. Conlan wants to run from his trauma, wants to hold it at bay, wants to pretend like a man can’t feel loss, but he’s wrong.
It’s there, eating at him.
In the morning, I’m up early. There’s no oat milk latte this time, no knock on the door. It’s a little past five, and I know he’s awake. I hear him moving around downstairs.
I pull on shorts and an old t-shirt then step out into the hall. I don’t know what my plan is, but I have to make things right.
I head toward the steps and flinch as he comes up them. His eyes meet mine in the hallway and I take a step back, hands coming up to my chest.
“You scared me,” I say, heart racing. I’m not sure why. I wanted this to happen. I wanted to run into him.
“That’s the last thing I wanted to do.” I’m not sure if he’s talking about last night or right now.
I stare at him, licking my lips. He’s shirtless, in only a pair of workout shorts. His muscles are hard, his stomach stacked, his chest sculpted. I’m reminded again of his incredible beauty.
And the darkness lurking underneath it like a still, deep lake.
“I’m sorry,” I stammer, saying it before I can stop myself.
“For what?”
“The way I reacted last night. I just—”
“Stop,” he says, voice low. “You owe me nothing.”
“No, really, I mean it. I’m sorry.”
“Isabel.” He takes a step toward me. “In case you haven’t noticed, this thing between us is more than just some fake marriage to me.”
My mouth opens. My eyes go wide. My throat constricts and I have to clear it, and is he saying what I think he’s saying? The way he’s looking at me right now is intoxicating, but I’m also distinctly aware of his other aspect, the dark side of him.
“I don’t, I mean, I didn’t—”
“What I told you last night, I’ve never told another person outside of my family. Never, not a single time. You’re the first. I don’t blame you for reacting the way that you did, and I’m the one that should apologize. I should’ve been more careful about how I told that last part to you. I should’ve realized how it would sound.”
“Conlan,” I whisper, my throat thick with emotion.
“I don’t want apologies from you. I don’t want anything at all. I am what I am, darkness and all. You married me because I made you a good offer, and that’s it. There’s no future here and nothing else matters. I don’t regret telling you, but I wish you wouldn’t look at me like I’m some kind of monster now. We can pretend like none of this happened. Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you.” He turns away and heads toward his room.
“Wait.” The word forces itself out of my lips. I don’t know what I plan on doing.
He’s right, isn’t he? This whole thing isn’t real. We’re in some strange, fake relationship, and yes, he got me off, and we’ve kissed a few times, and he’s been doing nice things, and yeah, I get butterflies when he’s around—but he’s a criminal. He’s a killer. He’s so much more than I ever imagined.
“Don’t make me stand here,” he says, voice soft. “We can just be done.”