Chapter 39
Liv
I don’t sleep, not really. I close my eyes and I lie still. I breathe in time with the pattern in my head that seems like sleep breathing would be. But my brain doesn’t shut off.
It just loops Arthur’s voice and face.
The way the word “his father” sounded when he said it. The way something inside me broke when I realized he’d taken that choice away from me.
And Arthur’s voice, calm and measured, saying, “context might help.”
I stare at the ceiling until the gray of morning starts to bleed through the curtains. My bag is still half-packed at the foot of the bed.
I didn’t leave, but I sure spent the night alone.
Until last night, Alex hadn’t been sleeping in his old room.
He shared a bed with me. I don’t know if he stayed the night in the manor or if he went to his apartment.
I didn’t leave this room to find out. The only time I even open the door was when Wilfred left me a meal on a tray with a soft knock at the door.
But I didn’t leave, which feels like a decision on its own. Even if I don’t fully understand it yet.
There’s a knock on the door, soft and careful. “Liv.”
My pulse skyrockets. I sit up slowly, pushing the blanket back. “Yeah?”
“Can I come in?”
I close my eyes for a second. This is it, the moment when things either break completely or somehow start to rebuild.
“…Okay.”
The door opens and he steps in like he’s done plenty of times while I’ve been staying here but he’s not the same. His shoulders are lower and his expression is just… raw. No more control of himself.
He doesn’t come too close, stopping a few feet inside the room like he’s giving me space to change my mind.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey.” The word feels fragile, like it could shatter if I put too much weight on it.
Silence stretches between us, different from last night. Less explosive, more… uncertain.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out of him fast and unpolished, like he didn’t rehearse them.
I blink. Because there’s no defense in them and no justification like I expected.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he continues. “I shouldn’t have taken your DNA. I shouldn’t have made that decision for you.”
My heart skips a beat. This is what I needed last night. Not logic or reasoning, just acknowledgment.
“I was scared,” he states, his voice quieter now. “But that doesn’t make it okay.”
I swallow. Hearing him say that matters more than I expected it to.
“I didn’t think about what it would feel like for you,” he adds. “Not the way I should have.”
There’s a pause then, he repeats himself. “I’m sorry.” This time, it’s even deeper.
I shift on the bed, my fingers twisting in the fabric of the blanket. “I know why you did it,” I say.
His gaze flicks up surprised.
I let out a slow breath. “Your dad told me,” I continue.
Something in his expression tightens. Not defensive but like he’s been exposed. “He shouldn’t have-”
“I’m glad he did,” I cut in.
He goes silent like that wasn’t what he expected me to say.
“I needed to understand,” I lament. “Not to excuse it. Just… to understand it.”
He nods once, slowly and carefully. “I was trying to get ahead of it,” he admits. “The connection. The reason they’re targeting you.”
“I know,” I nod.
“And I thought if I had answers, I could control it,” he adds. “Keep it contained.”
There’s that word again: control. But this time, it doesn’t hit the same. It’s not softer but it is clearer.
“You can’t control everything,” I say quietly.
“I know that,” he replies. “I just… forget it sometimes.”
I huff a small breath. “Yeah,” I mutter. “I’ve noticed.”
A ghost of something light flickers across his face. It fades quickly. “I hurt you,” he states.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“I don’t want to be someone who does that to you,” he adds. It feels honest, not like a promise. More like a realization.
“I don’t want to be with someone who does that to me,” I affirm.
His jaw tightens slightly. “I understand.” The words come out steady. But I can see the tension in his hands and the way they flex slightly at his sides, like he’s bracing for impact.
“I’m not saying I’m done,” I continue.
His head lifts. There’s hope there again, in his expression and in his eyes.
“I’m saying this doesn’t just go away,” I add. “You don’t get to say sorry and have everything go back to normal.”
“I wouldn’t expect that,” he accepts.
“Good,” I reply. Because I mean it. “I need boundaries,” I say.
His posture straightens slightly. “Okay.”
“No more decisions about me without including me,” I continue. “I don’t care how urgent it feels or how much you think you’re protecting me.”
“I hear you.”
“No more using my body as evidence,” I add, my voice tightening slightly. “Ever.”
“Never again,” he says immediately. There’s no hesitation or deflection anymore, just firm certainty.
I nod slowly. “And if something like this comes up again,” I continue, “you tell me. Even if it’s complicated. Especially if it’s complicated.”
“I will.”
“You don’t get to decide what I can handle,” I add.
“I know.”
He steps just slightly closer. When I don’t repel, he settles onto the side of the bed, still keeping space between us but removing some of it.
“I get why you were scared,” I say after a moment.
His gaze shifts over me.
“I don’t like what you did,” I continue. “I don’t agree with it. But I get why your brain went there.”
His expression fills with relief.
“That doesn’t make it okay,” I add quickly.
“I know.”
“It just… makes it make sense.”
He nods once. “That’s fair. What happens now?” he asks.
The question hangs there.
I look at him, really look at him again. At the man who broke my trust and is sitting here now owning up to it. Not hiding behind it or trying to gaslight me into ignoring it. He’s just facing it.
“We take it slow,” I say.
His shoulders drop slightly, like he didn’t realize how tense he was until now. “Okay.”
“You don’t get to assume we’re okay,” I continue. “You earn that back.”
“I will.”
“And I decide what that looks like,” I add.
“Yes.” No argument or pushback, just acceptance.
I exhale slowly because that matters and it makes me feel lighter. “I’m not leaving.” It’s a line in the sand but I’m ready to draw it.
His head lifts slightly. “Okay,” he says again, quieter this time.
“But I’m also not pretending nothing happened,” I add.
“I wouldn’t ask you to.”
His eyes flick to the bed, to the space between us. “Can I-” he starts, then hesitates. “Can I lay down with you for a little bit?”
I mull it over. Am I ready for that already? To not just touch him but to lay together?
Something about the way he asked the question, and the fact that he asked, helps me make up my mind.
“…Yeah.”
I pull the blanket back and he slides into that space. I curl right back up against him like we’ve done almost every night that I’ve been in the manor.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” he says after a moment, his breath brushing over my ear.
I huff a quiet breath. “I’m glad you’re honest,” I reply.