Chapter 21 #2
“I think you’re exhausted. You’re grieving and desperate for answers which don’t exist.” Fabian’s voice was infinitely patient. “Sometimes our minds create meaning where there is none, especially when we’re in emotional crisis.”
Summer studied his face, seeing nothing but compassion and concern.
The harsh overhead lights from the basement seemed like a fever dream now, the documentation she’d photographed blurring into uncertainty.
Had she really seen Vatican letterhead, or had exhaustion made innocent business correspondence look threatening?
“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” she admitted.
“You’re processing enormous loss. The mind sometimes protects us from unbearable truths by creating puzzles to solve instead of pain to feel.
” Fabian’s thumb traced across her knuckles.
“But Summer, you don’t have to carry this alone.
You don’t have to investigate shadows and torture yourself with false hope. ”
“What do you mean?”
“Stay with me. Not as a guest or a temporary refuge, but make your residence here more permanent. Let me love you the way you deserve to be loved. I can protect your, without the drama and abandonment you’ve endured.
” Fabian’s pale eyes held hers steadily.
“I can give you peace, Summer. Security. A future where you don’t have to fear being left behind. ”
The offer sounded like salvation. No more uncertainty, no more searching for a mate who was gone forever. Just acceptance, comfort, and the promise of being cherished by someone who would never leave.
“You’d want that? Even knowing how much I loved… still love him?”
“Especially knowing how much you loved him.” Fabian’s smile was soft and sincere. “Your capacity for love is one of your most beautiful qualities. I would be honored to be its recipient, even if I have to share space in your heart with tender memories.”
Summer felt herself wavering on the edge of surrender. It would be so easy to stop fighting, to accept Fabian’s version of reality. Easy to believe his love was real, his care genuine, his protection worth the cost of forgetting everything she’d discovered.
“I’m tired of hurting,” she whispered.
“Then stop.” Fabian leaned closer, his cool lips brushing her forehead. “Choose healing over pain. Choose love over grief. Choose me over the ghost of someone who’s already gone.”
Summer closed her eyes, feeling the seductive pull of surrender. Why continue fighting when the war was already lost? Why cling to suspicions and investigations when the simple explanation—grief, exhaustion, misperceived reality—felt so much more manageable?
She opened her mouth, on the point of accepting his offer when her mother’s voice echoed: He will return, baby girl. He always does.
Not “he might return” if he was still alive.
Not “he could return” if circumstances aligned.
Sybil’s journals were written with the absolute certainty of someone who’d seen the pattern of Rowan’s character through her cards, through her dreams, through whatever supernatural sight had made her such a powerful diviner.
He will return. He always does.
Because Rowan was the man who came back. The Knight of Pentacles in her mother’s readings, representing loyalty over circumstance, reliability that persisted through separation, steadfast protection which never wavered even when it seemed hopeless.
If Sybil said he would return, then he must be alive. Somewhere, somehow, being held against his will while Fabian played the role of concerned savior to the woman Rowan loved.
“Summer?” Fabian’s voice carried concern. “You look like you’ve had a revelation.”
“Just tired,” she said, settling back against the pillows. “You’re right about everything. I have been torturing myself with impossible theories instead of accepting reality.”
“I’m glad you’re beginning to see clearly.” Fabian’s smile was approving. “The truth is often simpler than we want to believe.”
“It is.” Summer managed a weak smile in return. “Thank you for being so patient with me. For not giving up on me when I was being so paranoid and difficult.”
“Never difficult. Just hurt.” Fabian rose. “Rest now. Tomorrow is Halloween night, and I have plans for us—a celebration of new beginnings.”
After he left, Summer lay in the silk-draped darkness, her mind crystal clear for the first time in days.
The mate bond was gone, but Rowan wasn’t dead.
He was being held somewhere, probably close enough that severing their connection was logistically manageable.
All she had to do was find him and restore what had been artificially fractured.
The basement facility hadn’t been a hallucination. The Vatican correspondence wasn’t grief-induced paranoia. And Fabian’s beautiful lies were finally transparent enough for her to see the truth beneath them.
She’d almost surrendered. Almost let his masterful manipulation convince her reality was whatever he chose to make it. But Sybil’s certainty anchored her to hope, and hope was enough to start fighting again.
Summer was reaching for her phone when her door opened again. Vincent slipped into her room, darting a look over his shoulder, his expression drawn, his skin pale. He beckoned her to hurry, and he held out his hand.
He revealed a key, old, ornate, and designed for ancient locks.
“Dr. Vale,” he whispered, glancing toward the corridor. “If you want to save him, it has to be now.”