Chapter 13
THEO
As I walk across the house, I realize just how right Ares is.
Tonight, that ends.
I'm going to get answers. I don't care if it turns into another fight. I'll take anything over this fog of uncertainty. Because this limbo, this hollow purgatory she's dragged me into, is killing me faster than any bullet ever could, and it's making me let my family down.
And I have every right to demand answers.
Four fucking years. Not a word. Not a goddamn text or call.
And now she's walking around my house, sleeping under my roof, making coffee in my kitchen like she hasn't been gone at all.
For a second, I wonder if she's awake. Then I scoff to myself.
Of course she is. I just saw her light on.
And she never slept much either—especially when something was bothering her.
Like when she thought I wasn't going back to Chicago with her when we first started dating.
She didn't tell me, she just didn't sleep for two days, worried.
I thought she was crazy when she finally told me.
I told her I'd follow her to the ends of the earth.
Cliché thinking back, but it was the truth.
Now?
I force myself to stop thinking, afraid of the answer.
I reach her door and stop.
I raise my hand, ready to knock. Ready to demand every answer she's buried, and then, I hear her voice from inside.
"Hey," she whispers.
Who the fuck is she talking to at this hour?
I freeze, my knuckles an inch from the wood. I shouldn't listen. This isn't who I am.
But with her, I'm not myself. I never was.
"I know," she continues, her voice soft. Tender. "I miss you too. I'll be home soon, don't worry."
Something cold and vicious wraps around me.
Home? Home?
I miss you too.
My hand drops to my side like it's made of stone and the air leaves my lungs.
She disappears from my life and she builds a home somewhere else. With someone else. Someone she misses. Who misses her.
Someone who isn't me.
I lean closer, listening because I have to.
"I just need a few more days. I promise. You know I love you."
My chest constricts, rage rising like a tide behind my ribs.
She used to say that to me, too.
In the morning. At night. Once, in a traffic jam on Lake Shore Drive when I was about to lose it, she just leaned over and said it like it was an anchor.
I love you.
And I calmed down. Like an idiot. Like a man who believed her.
There's a long pause, and then, "Yeah. I just need a few more days. No, he doesn't suspect anything yet."
My jaw locks.
He.
Fucking he.
I step back from the door, my whole body stiff.
My palms itch. My chest feels like it's been split open, but there's nothing bleeding out. Just smoke. Just rot. Just her voice in my head saying I love you, and not to me.
That's what I get for trying. For almost letting myself believe we could have something again. That whatever fire we had wasn't dead and cold. That her coming back meant anything more than manipulation.
Goddamn it, Theo.
You're a fool.
She came here for my protection, not because she wanted me. Not because she regretted leaving. She probably just wants money or something petty. Maybe she was always just using me.
She has a fucking life without me, a life she's eager to return to.
I take some deep breaths, my blood rushing in my ears.
What the fuck did I expect? That she'd spent all this time pining for me? That she'd been alone, thinking of me, regretting her choice?
No. She's been busy building a life. A home. With someone who gets to hear her voice every day. Who gets to touch her. Who gets to keep her.
I want to kick the door in. I want to snatch the phone from her hand and demand to know who's on the other end. I want to see her face when she realizes I know.
My hands curl into fists. The familiar sting of rage rises in me, the kind I usually reserve for men who've betrayed me, men whose eyes turn black when I'm done with them.
I take one step toward the door, then stop.
What would I do if I went in there right now? In this state? With this much fury coursing through me?
I'm not safe. Not for her. Not for myself.
I back away, turn, and walk down the hall. My chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself.
She played me. Again.
Same fucking pattern. Same old Theo.
Made me think she needed me. Made me remember what it was like to have her close. Made me feel like I mattered.
And the whole time, she was just waiting to go back to whoever the fuck is on the other end of that call.
My instincts were right: you don't get a second chance with the girl who has the ability to shatter your world.
I make it to my study and slam the door behind me. I grab the first thing my hand touches—a crystal glass—and go to hurl it across the room but stop myself. It was my mother's.
"Fuck!" I roar, the word tearing from my throat.
I pour myself a heavy pour of whiskey and down it. Then again and down that one, too.
I sit on the leather sofa and sink into it, my head in my hands.
Is this real?
Or am I just part of her game?
I curse under my breath.
She's breaking me all over again, and I didn't even realize I was still fractured.
I spent the last four years convincing myself I didn't need her. Didn't need love. That my family was enough. That my role in the family was purpose enough to keep moving.
And then she walked back in and rewrote the script with a single look.
Now I can't breathe without thinking about her.
Can't move without remembering how it felt to have her next to me.
And now I can't forget the sound of her voice whispering words to someone else.
Now, all I can think about is Stassi with some faceless man. Stassi smiling at him the way she used to smile at me. Stassi building a life, a future—all while I've been here, frozen in time since the day she left.
I'm a goddamn fool.
Screw this. I should just confront her.
Kick her out.
Tell her she had her chance and blew it.
But I don't move.
Because deep down, I know I was right to walk away. If I see her right now, I'll lose it.
Not with my hands. But with my mouth. With the things I'll say. The accusations I'll throw. The demands I'll make.
And if she cries, I'll crack. If she lies, I'll snap.
And if she tells me the truth?
I might not survive it.
I stand up and pace.
If she's lying to me now, what else has she hidden? The names? The threats? The real reason she came here?
What if I'm sheltering someone who's a danger to us all?
To Dimitri. To Calli. To Ares.
And I let her in without vetting her.
I never fucking do that. With anyone.
But I did it for her.
Again.
I need to remember who I am. What matters.
Family. The business. Finding my father's killer.
Not her.
Never her.
She wants my protection? Fine. I'll give it to her. But that's all she gets. Nothing else. Nothing more.
No more kitchen encounters. No more dinners. No more tracing scars on her skin. No more letting her crawl back into my head, my heart.
I've been a fucking idiot for thinking, even for a moment, that she cared. That she ever cared.
Women like Stassi don't care. They take what they need and they leave.
And I let her.
I clench my jaw and straighten my shoulders. I don't chase. I don't beg. I don't break.
Not for her.
Not for anyone.
Tomorrow, I'll tell her she has three days. Three days to tell me what kind of trouble she's in, who's after her, and what she needs from me. Then she can go back to her life, her home, her lover—whoever the fuck that is—and leave me the hell alone.
And this time, I won't watch the door for her return.
This time, I'll finally accept what I've always known to be true: I'm not meant for love. I'm meant for duty. For family. For power.
Everything else is just a distraction. A weakness.
And I am not weak.
Not anymore. Not even for her.