Page 96 of His Darkest Obsession
Because she's good. She's so good and pure and innocent that it practically hurts my rotten black heart every time I look at her. That even with blood on her face, she still puts others ahead of her.
And monsters keep trying to hurt her.
My jaw clenches again at the thought. Every beat of my heart sets my blood boiling just a little hotter. Anger dots my tongue, metallic and bitter, and red creeps into my vision until it overwhelms every other color in the world.
How can anyone want to hurt her?
I squeeze her hands gently against mine even as my heart screams at me to destroy something.
"You shouldn't have to bear these burdens by yourself," I tell her. "What good is being married to a pakhan if you have to stand alone against a cold and cruel world?"
A sad smile cracks across her face as her grip loosens around mine.
"Now you're starting to sound like your sister."
"I'm serious." My thumb brushes a tear away from her cheek, careful to avoid the red marks left by Lola's nails. "Your secrets are my secrets. Your burdens are my burdens."
She winces slightly at my touch but doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans into it, and her eyes flutters closed for a moment.
"Speaking of your sister," I say quietly, my thumb still tracing gentle circles on her tear-stained cheek. "There's something you need to know."
Her eyes open.
"What is it?"
I take a deep breath, knowing that my confession might destroy whatever trust is building between us. Then again, if that single confession is enough to break her trust, then perhaps I never deserved it in the first place.
But whether I deserve that trust or not, she still deserves to know the truth.
"The day I came to your apartment after we met at the barbershop, I found Amara's journal in your room."
She stiffens under my touch. "Did you read it?"
"I did." I nod. "I wanted to know more about you then. About why the mayor wanted you dead. And I thought that I might find an answer there, because I certainly haven't been able to find the answer anywhere else."
Her chest rises and falls rapidly as she processes this violation, but she lets my confession continue.
"I know your name used to be Miels," I say. "I know that something must've happened two years ago during a summer internship that changed everything for you. But I swear, that's all I know."
The room falls silent, weighted with unspoken truths, and she continues to wait for me to keep confessing.
So, I do.
"I didn't want to pry," I continue. "And if you're not ready to tell me, then you don't have to. But I'd be the world's shittiest husband if I didn't at least ask." I look directly into her eyes. "What happened two years ago, Indigo?"
Her breathing turns shallow as she withdraws into herself. Her fingers tense against mine. For a moment, I wonder if all I've done is remind her that she was always supposed to keep me at arm's length. That this marriage was nothing more than a convenience at best, and a farce at worst.
That maybe these feelings that are now wrapping around us aren't even real.
"You had no right," she finally says quietly. "Those weren't even my words to share."
"I know. But Bennet wanted you dead, and I wanted to understand why."
She closes her eyes again, and for a moment, I wonder if she's trying to find more ways to tell me that what I said is no excuse for what I did. To tell me that this violation of her trust is not something that deserves her answers. To remind me that she owes me nothing, not her grief nor her past nor her pain.
But then her eyes open. The haunted look cuts through me straight to my heart.
Then, she starts to talk.
