Page 85 of Beautifully Damned
Apologies. Gifts. Humiliation in front of men who’d kill for his respect. His childhood bared open before me. His body punished, starved, broken down—all for me.
If I’m honest, I already forgave him. Against my will, against my pride. My silence stretches too long. Roman stands, then lowers himself to his knees. Not satisfied, he falls forward onto his hands and crawls the short distance across the floor until he reaches me.
When his forehead drops against my thigh, his voice is a hoarse prayer. “I know I shattered your pride and crushed your heart. And I’m so sorry. But you told me you love me—that means you gave me your heart again. So what’s left is pride. Break mine like I broke yours, angel.”
“What?” The word scrapes out, horrified, because he has found the exact wound I couldn’t name myself.
“Kick me. Hit me. Spit in my face. Tear me down until I have nothing. Then watch me crawl back to you and rebuild myself at your feet. Do it, Ayla.”
I drop down beside him, my hands gripping his face hard enough to force him to meet my eyes.
“No,” I whisper. “No, Roman. That isn’t love. Love doesn’t mean violence.”
“Then teach me how it exists, Ayla. Please. Tell me what you want me to do—other than leaving you, because that will never happen—and I will do it.”
“I want you to stop.” The words rip out of me. “Stop starving yourself. Stop tearing your body apart. Stop hurting yourself for me.”
“If that’s what you want, that’s what I’ll do.”
Relief buckles through me. “Good.”
“But answer me, Ayla. Tell me what it will take for you to forgive me. Do you want me to give your family my men, my weapons, my empire? Do you want me humiliated again in the underground, crawling through blood for you? Tell me, and it’s yours.”
“No!” My scream shatters the quiet. “I would never ask that.” I already see myself as theirs. Not just his, but all of them. The Volkovs. Their fate is tangled with mine now. Giving their resources to my family—their ruin on a silver platter—isn’t what I want. At all.
“Then what do you need from me? Tell me, angel. I’ll give you anything.”
The truth is terrifying to speak aloud, but it needs to be said. “Just… keep showing me that you love me,” I whisper.
Because I still have my doubts, because I’m scared to believe. Because I need more. I’m a woman scorned, learning how to trust again.
His eyes fill with something I’ve never seen in him—hope. Pure and terrible. “I will.”
?Chapter LV?
Ayla
That night, sleep is a stranger. Every time I close my eye, all I see is Roman on his knees, begging me to destroy him. Roman, offering me his ruin as though it were a gift. If my family knew I turn that down, they would call me a fool.
But I can’t do it to him. I believe that beneath the scars and the violence, there’s a hurt and confused little boy.
I’m terrified. Because what if he only wants the chase? What if one day he wakes up and realizes he doesn’t love me at all? Giving your heart to a man who doesn’t even know what love is, is terrifying.
Roman plants himself against the threshold of my bedroom like a guard dog, stretched across the hardwood floor with nothing but a blanket and his stubbornness.
I sigh too loudly, rolling over again.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks.
“No.”
The silence is heavy after, and I break it. “Doesn’t your body hurt on that floor?”
“No. I’ve never been more comfortable than when I’m in your space.”
I lift the edge of my blanket and pat the empty mattress. He studies me, confusion flickering into recognition. He gets up with a groan and moves to me. The bed dips under his weight. Heat radiates off him, burning through the inches between us. We lie stiff on our backs, arms brushing, neither daring to breathe too hard. Then he turns onto his side, fingers brushing a lock of hair behind my ear.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers.
