Page 117 of Serpent King's Prisoner

I didn’t respond, so he continued, “I can’t change what I did. But I can change who I am. Who I will be to you.”

“But why?” I found myself asking again, confusion muddled with a sliver of hope.

He shook his head. Looked like he was about to cry.

“Nathan,” I began, my voice tight with bottled-up emotions, “you can’t undo what’s been done. Apologies don’t erase scars.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him flinch at my words. Good, let him know how it feels. Still, something troubled me about his confession. The regret in his voice felt genuine. An odd sensation tugged at the edges of my heart—the ridiculous urge to comfort him. I squashed that feeling—or at least I tried

“Why are you trying to make it up to me now?”

He looked at me then, his dark orbs intense and unwavering. “Because I love you, Abby.”

I bit back the urge to say I loved him too, though I, of course, loved him too. The words were on my tongue, poisonous, savory, ready to spill out.

I reeled them back in.

“Then why?” My voice cracked, betraying the calm facade I fought to maintain.

“Because I’m a fucking mess,” he spat out, slamming his palm against the wheel. “I lost control, yes, but not because it’s what I do—it was because...because with you, it’s different. You unraveled me.”

“Is that your version of love then? Losing control?” My question hung in the air, pointed and raw.

His jaw clenched visibly, and for a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. When he did, his words were laced with a pain that mirrored my own. “Love—I don’t know if I ever knew what that was supposed to be. But with you, it’s the closest I’ve come to understanding it. I think I get it now, Abby. And I’m so, so sorry.”

“Understanding by force?” The skepticism in my voice was sharp enough to cut.

“Never again,” he said firmly, meeting my eyes with a resolve that surprised me. “I want your consent, Abby. I want you—in all the ways that matter, not just in bed. I want you as my wife, but only if you want it too.”

His declaration thundered in the quiet car, and for a heartbeat, I considered the madness of accepting. The man who could order a hit with a flick of his wrist was offering me his heart, flawed and fractured as it may be.

And somewhere along the line, against all sense, I had begun to care for him too.

I loved this man. And he was…proposing.

“Say something, please,” he urged, his voice strained.

“Just give me a second, Nathan. My head is spinning.”

“If you want to walk away, my dad might come after you. I’m giving you the option to walk because I get it now. I want you to have that.”

I hesitated, letting the weight of his latest question settle between us, still mulling over his proposal. “You think I could walk away from all this?” My voice was steady, even as my heart raced. “That I could just forget and start over somewhere far from here?”

He nodded, his expression earnest. “If that’s what you want, I’ll make it happen. I’ll buy you the tickets myself.”

I studied him, this man of contradictions. The air in the luxury car felt too thick, too charged with our conflicting emotions.

“You know,” I began, my voice betraying a hint of vulnerability, “I liked it.”

It startled me as much as it seemed to startle him–even after the way he’d made me come in that luxurious prison cell, how I’d touched myself when he left me cuffed and broken and sore. My confession hung in the air, raw and honest.

“The submission, having you...like that. Not being in control for once.”

Nathan’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise passing through them.

“Everything about my life is perfectly tidy, organized, planned. Control is my thing, but with you, I didn’t have it. I didn’t know if I was going to get out alive.” A bitter laugh escaped me. “And every time you used me, called me just a hole, I convinced myself it was because you couldn’t care about me.”

“Abby—“

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