Page 117 of Hate Mates

I still, the memory slamming into my chest like a hammer, reverberating through bones I thought had long since turned to steel.

She leans forward, her voice softer now, almost desperate. “You saved that starling. Nursed it back to health and set it free. Remember that?”

I force myself to smirk, but it feels wrong on my face. “You’re clinging to childhood fantasies, Ottavia.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t owe you one.”

“You do,” she says, voice rising now, anger seeping through the cracks. “Because no matter how cruel you try to be, I know—I know—that you weren’t always this way.”

I laugh, a cold, empty sound. “And what, you think reminding me of some worthless bird will change me? That I’ll suddenly become the boy you’ve built up in your head?”

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t back down. She never does. “It wasn’t worthless to me.”

Something snaps inside me. The patience I don’t have burns to ash, and before I can stop myself, I slam her back against the cold wall, my hand catching her throat—not squeezing, just holding. Just enough to feel her pulse hammer against my palm. Just enough to make sure she fucking listens.

“You think I saved that bird for you? That it meant anything?”

Ottavia lifts her chin, defiant. “If it meant nothing, why do you still remember it?”

“Because I got the shit beaten out of me over that fucking bird.”

She sucks in a breath.

“I saved that bird, and what did I get in return? A bruised face, a fractured rib, and broken collarbone. I got a father who didn’t talk to me for weeks because his only son disappointed him by setting that bird free instead of killing it. And when he finally decided to speak to me—” I stop, clenching my jaw.

The memory burns, like a demon slithering down the spine of my soul. My father made me do unspeakable things, things that would break the mind of a delicate thing like her.

Her eyes widen in shock, color draining from her face, and I rear back with a grunt, hating how my father’s words start rushing back.

“The only thing worse than weakness is a man who lets others see it.”

“Compassion is a leash. The second you show it, someone will choke you with it.”

“Next time you break the wing completely. If it can’t fly, it has no fucking purpose.”

Ottavia reaches for me, but I flinch back, anger rolling in waves as I sneer at her, “I was weak…because of you.”

Silence stretches between us, and it’s fucking suffocating.

Her lips part, but no words come. For the first time, she doesn’t know what to say. There’s no sign of her fight.

Good. Now she knows.

I turn my back on her and open the door but stop to glance at her over my shoulder. “I will never allow you to make me weak again, Ottavia. Never.”

I hear her sob. Hear the sharp inhale of breath. The fucking pity. And as I walk away from her, I tell myself I feel nothing.

Not for her.

SIX

Ottavia

There is no satisfaction in knowing the truth of what he endured. No vindication in watching him unravel.

Only a sharp, aching sorrow for the boy who was punished for saving a life. For the child who dared to show kindness and was beaten until he learned that mercy was a weakness he couldn’t afford.

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