Page 22 of Until You Break

I gasp, feeling the tears finally spill over, my chest tight as I stare up at him. “Itisyou,” I whisper, half a sob escaping my throat. “Dominic…”

He’s so close, his body solid and warm above me, the mask hiding his face but not his presence. Then he brings a gloved finger to my lips, the universal gesture for silence.

I can feel the faint pressure, the warmth of his hand through the fabric of his leather glove, and my heart aches with a familiarity that feels like it’s breaking me.

“Please,” I choke out, my voice raw. “Please, just… say something.”

He shakes his head slowly, a silent answer, a refusal to give me the words I need. His fingers linger on my lips for a second longer, a ghostly touch that leaves me reeling, and then he pulls back, his gaze never leaving mine as he rises from the bed, his movements smooth, controlled.

He straightens, looking down at me for one last moment, and I feel that same, possessive intensity radiating from him, like he’s claiming this moment and staking his claim on me. I want to reach for him, to grab him, to make him stay. But I’m frozen, my voice lost as he turns, walking away, his steps silent as he disappears into the shadows beyond my room.

The door creaks open, and then he’s gone, leaving only the faint, lingering scent of pine and oil, the scent of him, wrapping around me like a memory come to life.

I lie there, staring at the empty space where he stood, the darkness settling around me like a shroud. The tears keep coming, silent, unstoppable, each one carrying the weight of five years of loss, of longing, of every unanswered question, every hope I tried to bury.

He was here. He came back.

But he didn’t say a word.

Chapter fifteen

His Sinner

I lay there, curledup on the bed, tears slipping down my cheeks, silent but relentless. I can still feel the weight of him pressing me down, the silent intensity in his eyes hidden behind that mask.

He was so close, close enough that I could smell him, could feel the warmth of him through the glove as he pressed his finger to my lips.

The familiar scent of pine needles and motor oil still lingers faintly in the air, a reminder that he was really here, that he found me. And then, just like that, he was gone, slipping back into the shadows he’s been haunting for so long.

My heart aches in a way I can’t even begin to explain. I thought I was past this. I thought I’d locked that part of me away, the part that wanted him, that needed to know he was safe. The part of me that’s always felt a hollow ache where he used to be, that’s been searching for some kind of closure since the night he disappeared.

But seeing him again, feeling him above me, his touch, the way he left without a word—it’s like he ripped open an old wound, raw and bleeding, all over again.

I know it was him. I can’t explain how, but I justknow.

I sit up slowly, wiping my face, the room feeling colder, emptier without him. My gaze drifts to the closet, to a small box on the top shelf that I haven’t touched in years.

I stand, my feet moving of their own accord, and reach for the box, pulling it down gently. The cardboard is faded, the edges worn from the times I’ve handled it in the past, back when the memories of him were still fresh, still vibrant.

Opening the lid carefully, my breath catches as I look down at the worn black hoodie inside folded neatly. The last piece of him I’d ever hold. I pull it out, feeling the soft, faded fabric under my fingers, the worn cuffs, the faint tear in the left sleeve,

His scent is long gone, faded with time and a million washes, but just holding it brings him back in a way that nothing else could.

I slip the hoodie over my head, the fabric loose and worn, settling around me like a second skin. It’s too big even though I am a big girl myself, the hem brushing against my thighs. But it’s warm, comforting, a piece of him wrapped around me.

I pull the hood up, closing my eyes as I clutch the fabric close, feeling the ache in my chest sharpen, the tears slipping down my cheeks all over again.

“Dominic,” I whisper, barely a breath, his name slipping from my lips like a secret. I don’t know if he’s still out there, listening, watching, or if he’s vanished back into whatever life he’s been living in the shadows.

But right now, with his hoodie wrapped around me, it’s enough to pretend. To pretend that he’s here, close, that this piece of him is something solid, something real.

I crawl back into bed, curling up beneath the blankets, pulling his hoodie tighter around me as I close my eyes. The fabric is warm, soft against my skin, and for the first time since he left, I feel a faint sense of calm, a quiet peace that’s somehow more painful than anything else.

The tears keep coming, silent and steady, but I don’t fight them. I let myself feel it.

I feel it all, the memories, the nights we spent together, the way he used to look at me, his face bruised and bloody, but his eyes fierce, unbreakable. The way he’d laugh, calling me “Little Sinner” like it was the only name that mattered.

I don’t know how long I lie there, wrapped in the memory of him, but eventually, sleep pulls me under, soft and relentless, taking me back to the last place I ever saw him, to the cell, to the cold darkness where we whispered secrets, where he told me to run, to live.

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