Page 75 of Savage Obsession

She deserves more than a man with so much blood on his hands. More than a husband who doesn’t know how to hold on to the people he loves.

I lost my first family.

I lost my child.

What if I lose her too?

Maybe I’m cursed. Hexed to lose anyone I love.

The bedroom door creaks open, and I turn to find her standing there, wrapped in a silk robe, her hair tousled from sleep.

“Come back to bed,” she murmurs, her voice soft but firm.

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

She studies me, then slowly steps forward. “Talk to me, Aithan.”

I scoff. “Talk?” I set my glass down a little too hard. “I told you I don’t do that.”

She crosses her arms. “You will with me.”

I look away and exhale sharply. “You deserve more than this, Yelena. More than me.”

Silence. Then she steps right into my space, her hands pressing against my chest. “You don’t get to decide you’re not worthy of me.”

My throat tightens.

“Don’t do this,” she whispers. “Don’t push me away because you think you are too scarred for me. I love you because of those scars. You earned every one of them and should wear them with pride.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know how to give you a real future, Yelena. I don’t know how to be—” I swallow hard. “How to be good.”

Her eyes search mine. “I never asked for good, Aithan. I asked for you.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

She grips the front of my shirt. “You are not sending me away. You are not deciding for me. I made my choice the day I married you.”

I shake my head. “I should have protected you.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.” I let out a bitter laugh. “I let you lose my child. I let you get kidnapped.”

Her fingers tighten. “We lost our child.” Her voice cracks. “Not just you, Aithan. We.”

The pain in her eyes guts me.

“I don’t know how to grieve,” I admit, my voice raw. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Her arms wrap around me, holding me tight. “Then let’s grieve together. Let us fix this together.”

And just like that, the last of my restraint shatters.

I bury my face into the crook of her neck, my hands gripping her like she’s the only thing keeping me standing. Because she is.

I’ve never let myself break before. Not like this.

But Yelena doesn’t run. She doesn’t recoil from the shattered pieces of me.

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