Page 152 of Claiming Pretty

I felt the weight of his silent plea pressing into me, heavier than the air in the tomb.

Pick me. Love me. Save me.

I tried to wrench my chin away from Ebony’s claw, but she held me like iron. The more I struggled, the deeper she sank her nails.

“Or this one?” Ebony asked, jerking my attention toward Ty. “Did prison carve the soul out of him, or did he lose it willingly? Are his broken pieces enough to satisfy you for the rest of your life?”

This time, Ty’s mask cracked. His anguish shone through, raw and unguarded, his eyes blazing with a storm of emotions he couldn’t contain—pain, love, and a resignation so deep it nearly brought me to my knees.

I love you. Forget me. Let me go.

“Please,” I begged, my voice raw and broken, sobs strangling my words. “I can’t choose. Please, Ebony, don’t make me.”

Tears poured freely, scalding my cheeks, blurring my vision. Ebony hated weakness—especially mine—but I couldn’t stop the flood. It was like the anguish was being ripped from my chest in waves, each one more violent than the last.

“Pathetic,” Ebony muttered, her voice sharp enough to cut. Her hand shot out, shoving me back so hard that Islammed into the altar’s unyielding stone, pain lancing through my spine, stealing my breath.

“You bitch!” Ciaran roared, his voice a weapon hurled across the room, every syllable drenched in fury and desperation.

Ty fought against the guards holding him back, his teeth bared in a snarl, his body straining as if sheer force of will might be enough to break their grip.

“Take me instead!” The words burst from me before I could think them through. “I’ll stay with you. Let them go. Please—just let them both go!”

Ebony laughed, the sound cold and hollow, echoing off the tomb walls like the cruelest mockery. Her pale eyes gleamed with something as dark and unfeeling as her voice.

“Do you think I’m stupid, Ava? They’ll come back for you. But once one has you all to himself, there’s no way in hell they’ll risk coming back for the other.”

She turned her gaze to Ciaran first, her icy scrutiny peeling back his anger like layers of armor.

His features contorted in a snarl of hatred, the slightest flicker of anguish breaking through.

Then she shifted her attention to Ty, who met her stare with quiet defiance, his emotions raw and bleeding for all to see.

Her certainty solidified like steel, her posture straightening with cruel resolve. Ebony looked back at me, trembling and crumpled on the altar, my face streaked with tears.

I hated that she could see me like this—weak, broken—but I had no strength left. Her impossible choice had bled me dry.

“No, you cannot stay,” she said, her voice devoid of mercy. “Choose now. I’m growing tired of this game.”

The guards stepped closer to Ty and Ciaran. The sight of gun muzzles pressing against their skulls made bile rise in my throat.

I hid my face in my hands as my body racked with sobs, and I screamed, the sound primal, ripped from the depths of my soul, a cacophony of fear, grief, and helpless rage.

Nothing had prepared me for this. Nothing could have.

The tears came harder, hotter, until they blurred into a haze of despair.

The weight of the decision—oftheirlives—crushed me, suffocating every ounce of reason I had left. I braced myself for the inevitable crack of gunfire, for the end to come.

“I love you both,” I choked out between sobs.

I couldn’t bear to look at them. I couldn’t let their faces—marked with anger, fear, and love—be my last memory of them. So I closed my eyes and went elsewhere.

I went to the Darkmoor library in the moonlight, to Paris bathed in the soft glow of dawn.

I retreated to the safety of my childhood bathtub and to my bed where Ty had held me, whispering promises he couldn’t keep.

I let myself drown in the fragments of a life that had already slipped through my fingers.

---