7. Chapter 7
Chapter seven
EMMA EASTON
I don’t move when the conversation ends. Voices fade around me, chairs scrape across the floor, and someone walks into the kitchen. The quiet that follows should feel like relief after all of that. But I'm suffocating. I’m drowning under everything I just learned.
My hands are still clasped together in my lap. I try to loosen them, but they won’t cooperate. They're locked in place, as if letting go would mean that the carefully curated self control I’ve solidified over the years is fraying. And, I suppose it is. I can feel it thread by thread.
I focus on my breathing, but it doesn’t help.
The image of Jude choking the life out of me flashes in my mind.
I fear I’ll never escape that. I can’t compartmentalize it.
I can’t soften it in any way. There’s just him, and what they did to him.
And then what he did to me. I touch my sternum, rubbing when a knot forms at the memory.
“Emma.” Heather’s voice is gentle.
I blink, my gaze dragging up to meet hers. She’s watching me carefully. “I’m okay,” I say automatically.
She doesn’t call me out on it. She just tilts her head, her expression soft. “That was a lot to hear.”
I swallow, my throat tight. “I just…I need a minute.”
She nods, squeezing my shoulder once before she stands. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” She hesitates for a second longer, then turns and walks away with Micah, leaving me alone in the quiet. He throws me a look over his shoulder, one that says, I’m here.
For a moment, I stay exactly where I am, my thoughts splintering under the weight of everything he’s been through. It’s too much to hold all at once. God…I don’t want to think about was done to him when no one was there to stop it.
My gaze drifts, landing on Adriana. Her shoulders are drawn in, like she’s trying to disappear inside herself. I should take a step back and give myself time to process this. That’s what I’ve always done. Think it through first, and then build the right approach to keep control.
But that version of me might not be best for him right now.
If that means unlearning everything I’ve relied on that’s kept me composed and careful, then I’ll let it go. Because if that’s what it takes to give him even the smallest chance of finding his way back, then I’ll become that version of myself without hesitation. He is my world. He always has been.
My body moves before doubt can catch up, pushing me to my feet. I’m unsteady, but I don’t stop. I don’t let myself pause long enough to reconsider. Not when this might be the only way I can reach him.
I close the distance and walk straight toward the woman who helped break the man I love. “Adriana.” My voice makes her freeze.
Slowly, she turns, and her eyes meet mine. I can see guilt inside them. She’s avoided me pretty well so far.
For a second, neither of us says anything when I stop in front of her.
Adela casually ushers Rafe, Nico, and Kieran upstairs, leaving her and me alone in the living room.
The space between us is loaded with words I’ve wanted to scream at her from the beginning.
Since when he was withering and she took from him over and over anyway.
This bitch has hurt him beyond comprehension. This evil fucking monster.
I force myself to take another step forward. “Why did he want to protect you?”
Adriana exhales slowly. “Emma—”
“No,” I cut in, shaking my head. My voice trembles, but I don’t stop.
“He wasn’t supposed to want you. He hated you.
He wanted to kill you—” My breath catches, and I press my lips together, trying to steady it.
“I need to understand what happened between you two there. I need to understand the man I’m trying to save.
And unfortunately, you know more than I do. ”
Her expression tightens, but she stays quiet.
My heart hurts. “Does he love you?”
She frowns, hesitating for a moment. “No, Emma. He doesn’t love me.”
“Do you love him?” I ask faster than I can even think about what I’m saying.
“No.”
“Were you guys, like, together at Alexei’s?” I clench my jaw, nervous of her answer.
“No,” she repeats quietly.
I nod once, wiping an angry tear away. “I haven’t seen him yet. Not since he woke up. I’m scared to. Isn’t that awful?”
Adriana remains quiet. She probably knows how hard I’m holding back. In a perfect world, I would have smashed her face against a concrete wall months ago.
A heavy sigh leaves me. I don’t know why I’m bothering talking to her. “Okay.” I go to turn, since my fists are shaking and begging to punch her. But her voice stops me in my tracks.
“He refused to say your name,” she whispers.
I stare at her. “He…he what?”
“He hated hearing your name, even,” she continues.
“He nearly hit me when I said it. I think it was his way of coping and accepting that he lost you. He loves you, Emma, you have to know that. I think that perhaps you’re the reason he held on for so long.
” She pauses, her gaze falling to the floor.
“That’s why Alexei used you against him I think.
You were the last thing keeping him here. ”
I hate that I can’t hold this together. I drag in a shaky breath, trying to center myself through the rage and the devastation, but it’s not working. The tears are already there, slipping past before I can stop them. He refused to hear my name? Say it? No.
Adriana’s brows pull together in sympathy.
“I love him,” I say, the words coming out raw as I sit at the dining table.
“Do you understand that? I love him, and I—” My voice cracks again, and I press my lips together, shaking my head as I try to keep going.
“I don’t care what they did to him. I don’t care how broken he is right now. Because it’s still him down there.”
Adriana’s eyes glisten, her composure slipping. “I know,” she whispers.
Something about the way she says it makes my chest tighten even more. Because she does know. And I hate that she does. She’s spent all of those years with him, watching him spiral. She was there, kissing him, sleeping with him, hurting him—
“I failed him,” she says suddenly. “I should have gotten him out sooner. I should have—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “I used him. For years. And even when I thought I cared about him, I was still part of what was hurting him. I just did to him what Nolan was doing to me.”
I don’t say anything. Because I don’t trust what will come out if I do.
I’ve never wanted to actually kill someone before like this.
My brain tries rationalizing my emotions, filing them away into neat little fucking folders labeled, “trauma-bonding,” “industry abuse,” and “hurt people hurt people.” Every logical part of me understands exactly what happened between them.
But every emotional part of me still wants to wrap both hands around her throat.
I feel the little organized pieces of myself slipping, crashing into one another.
Adriana’s lips part, then press together again like she’s debating whether or not to tell me something else. Then she sits across from me. “He tried to kill himself.”
Everything in me goes still. I turn my head toward her, slowly. “What?”
Her eyes fill with tears. “After everything finally caught up to him…he couldn’t handle it anymore.”
“No,” I breathe, my hands shaking in my lap. “How?”
Adriana nods weakly. “I didn’t know what to do. He was—he was breaking down already, and I thought…” She shakes her head. “I thought that was it.”
My chest feels like it’s caving in. Suddenly the rage is draining. “What stopped him?” I ask, my voice barely there. “You?”
Adriana looks at me. “No. You,” she replies quickly. “Your name.”
The world tilts. I open and close my mouth, struggling for words.
“I said your name,” she explains, her voice trembling.
“I told him about you. About how you were still out there. About how much you loved him. And he stopped,” she says softly.
“The glass shard he had at his throat fell from his hand and shattered on the floor. Picturing or seeing your face hurt him because of the torture. But I told him to latch onto how loving you felt. And he came back just enough to stop.”
A sob catches in my throat, my hand flying up to cover my mouth as the weight of that crashes into me all at once. He almost—
Oh my god.
A tear rolls down her cheek. “You should try to remind him of the feeling of being in love with you. It worked before.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. Past every part of me that wants to take her out back and shoot her in the goddamn head. Because he matters more than my revenge on her. “Help me.”
She tilts her head, face twisting in confusion.
“After all of the horrible shit you’ve done to him over the years,” I continue. “I need you to help me get him back. Please. It’s the least you could fucking do. Help us save him.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “I will. I’ll do anything.”
My breathing is uneven as I wipe at my face with the back of my hand. I have to get away from her. “I’m going to see him.”
She nods once as I turn away and head for the stairs to the basement.
When I get down to the basement living room, I see that Micah is sitting forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, his gaze locked on the monitors in front of him.
Heather is beside him, equally focused. They both look up the second I step into the room.
Micah’s expression changes immediately. “Hey.” His voice is careful.
I don’t say anything at first. My eyes drift past him, landing on the screen. And there he is.
Jude is lying on the bed, sheets tangled around his legs like he’s been tossing and turning. His skin is damp with sweat, his chest rising and falling fast. Even through the grainy monitor, I can see pain. He looks…horrible.
My heart aches. “I’m going in,” I say quietly.
Micah stands immediately. “I don’t know—”
“I have to.”