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It’s my fault Novalie got taken all those years ago. My baby sister’s haunted eyes accuse me every time. If I hadn’t… she wouldn’t have suffered such horrors. I failed her.

And now I failed Gemma.

I flex my fingers, watching the deep gashes ooze.

Being with her felt as easy as breathing.

I’ve never let anyone get that close before.

And now she’s gone, thinking I’m no better than the spoiled elite who view people as dispensable accessories.

I never wanted to hurt her.

She deserves someone capable of giving their whole heart, not a man shackled by the ghosts of his past.

But I want her, God, I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything. The only woman who ever stirred something real inside me.

If I were half the man my father expects me to be, I wouldn’t have made Esther my fiancé. The baggage I carry, the demons that haunt me, any sane woman would run.

But not my gem.

She faced me head-on tonight, calling me out on my bullshit.

I let go of the shard in my hand and sit on the couch, hunched over my knees.

All I can see is her face, streaked with tears, yet so beautiful, as she stood before me, challenging me to choose her. And I remained silent, like a fucking asshole.

Fuck.

“El—” Connor’s voice appears. “Jesus, what the fuck?”

I keep my eyes fixed on the coffee table. “Leave.”

“You’re bleeding all over the place. What the hell?” I hear his footstep retreat, and after a few seconds, he’s back, sitting down on the coffee table with a first aid kit.

“What happened?” Connor takes my hand, turning it.

“Doesn’t matter.” I try to pull away, but his grip is stronger.

Why the fuck is he here?

“I know Gemma was here.” He scans the room.

“We had a fight. She left. I got angry and...”

“Idiot.”

I wince as Connor cleans the gashes on my hand. Still, the sting of the antiseptic is nothing compared to the ache of Gemma’s absence. I need her.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks.

“About what?”

“You know what.”

I fucked up. I fucked up big time.

“I need that engagement. And by needing it, I failed her.”

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