Page 85 of Deadly Oath

But instead, I’m standing here in this small coffee shop, looking at the man who ruined my life. Who gave me something precious.

Who let me walk away, even though he once promised me he never would.

I draw in a slow breath, and cross the room to where Kian is sitting.

He looks up as he hears the click of my heels, and Isee the moment his eyes widen, taking me in. I know what he’s seeing—the slight swell of my stomach under the fitted black sweaterdress I’m wearing, the curve that wasn’t there before, and I see him swallow hard, his gaze fixed on the shape of the bump as I sit down in the chair opposite him.

“I thought you might not come,” he says quietly.

“I thought about it,” I admit. I look up at him, at this handsome man who I know and don’t, all at once, and I can’t help but think that he looks tired. A little more worn around the edges. Lost, maybe—or maybe as if he’s lostsomething. Something that mattered to him.

Did I matter to him?He said he loved me, before I left, but words are easy. What I know was harder was letting me walk away.

“Why did you?” Kian asks, meeting my gaze. He’s dressed for the February weather, in a dark green knit sweater and jeans, a black peacoat hanging over the back of his chair. But he looks neither like the man I met in Kentucky nor the man who brought me back here to New York. He looks like someone else entirely, like all of this has changed him, too.For better, or for worse?

I can’t know until I try to find out.

I pause, thinking for a moment about the right words. “You saw a different side of me, when you got to know me, didn’t you?” I ask softly. “I wasn’t what you expected. And that was what drove a chink in your armor, right from the beginning.”

Kian nods. He says nothing else, letting me say what I want to, at the pace that I want to get it out.

“I’m here because I saw a different side of you then, too,” I say quietly. “When you killed that rattler. When you took me out to dinner because you knew I couldn’t cook. When you fixed my porch step.” I look down at my bare left hand. “When you bought me a ring that you didn’t need to, because you knew it would make me happy.”

“Sabrina—” he starts to speak, but I shake my head.

“Let me finish.”

He nods again, going silent.

“I needed space. You hurt me, Kian—I can’t change that, and neither can you. What you planned to do, what youdid, was unthinkable.And I couldn’t stay after that. I needed to think about what I felt. About who I thought you really were. About what it could do to a person, to have someone they loved hurt the way your sister was, and what could be forgiven on account of that.” My hand touches the swell of my stomach. “About our child and what he needs.”

Kian’s head snaps up sharply. “You found out?—”

I nod. “It’s a boy. I found out at my last appointment.”

Something shimmers in Kian’s eyes, a brief glint, and he swallows hard. “Go ahead,” he says quietly. “I’ll try not to interrupt again.”

My chest tightens at that—at how quickly he backed down. He didn’t insist I bring his heir home, or tell me that this changes anything.This is the side I saw. This is the man I know he really is.

It gives me what I need to keep going.

“I think you can be better when you’re not driven by revenge,” I say softly. “You asked for a chance, Kian. A chance to start over. And I—I want to give you that. For myself, and for you. And for our son.”

I see the shock of those words hit him, the way they ripple through him. I see his hands tighten on the table, his knuckles whitening, as if he expects me to say that I’m joking. That this ismyrevenge, for what he did.

“You’re serious,” he says, his voice tight. “You mean it.”

I nod, and for the first time since he brought me to New York, I reach out and touch his hand. I feel him flinch, and then I feel his hand turn, his fingers curling against mine. “It will take time for all the wounds to heal,” I tell him. “But I’ve had time to think about it. To start that, on my own. And I mean it.”

Kian nods, clearly still in shock. “So what?—”

“Come with me.” I stand up, enjoying the moment of being the one in control, of being the one to direct how this goes. It won’t always be like this, I know—I don’t doubt Kian will still enjoy the same games he did once, only without the darker edge. But at this moment, he’s following my lead, and I take full advantage. “I want to show you where I’ve been living.”

I hail a cab when we step outside, and give the driver my address. It takes us to a pretty cream-brick building near Central Park, with agarden courtyard and black iron fencing all around it. “The FBI helped put me up here,” I tell Kian, as I lead him inside to the elevator. “Caldwell got in touch with me—he was pretty upset about all of it. But he came around eventually, once he knew I was safe. The FBI covered my expenses for a little while, until my father’s assets were unfrozen and handed over to me. I got a job as well, for something to do. An editor for a publishing house, part-time,” I add, and Kian makes a small sound of surprise.

“That’s impressive,” he says. “I’m—I’m impressed, Sabrina. I don’t know what else to say. You?—”

“I’ve done better than I thought I would, on my own.” I lead him down the hall, unlocking the door to my apartment and walking in. It’s large and airy, with big windows that overlook the park, decorated in soft earth tones and pastels, with furniture that I picked out bit by bit. “I want to keep the apartment,” I tell him, turning to face him as I set my keys down. “I know you’ll want me to live with you, and I want that, too. But I want to keep this, too. For my own space. To come and relax, to read, or write, or—whatever I want.”

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