Page 78 of The Colour of Revenge
I’m failing miserably.
Later, as we drive back to her place, the silence between us is comfortable—the kind that doesn’t need filling.
I haven’t slept in my bed in weeks, not since our first real date. And honestly? I don’t miss it.
Waking up next to Carina, her hair a chaotic mess, her leg flung over me like she’s staking a claim, has become… a habit. No—an addiction. My apartment feels empty now, like the saddest fucking king-size mattress in the world.
Her voice breaks the silence. “What made you get into this work?”
The question is casual, unassuming, but it still hits like a slap to the face.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. My jaw locks. I could lie. I could deflect.
But she’s staring at me, waiting. Not letting this drop.
I exhale slowly, the words burning on the way out. “My sister.”
Carina doesn’t say anything, but she turns toward me, her eyes pinning me in place.
Spill it, buddy.I can practically hear her inner monologue.
I let out a rough breath. “Mel. She was my little sister. She was kidnapped when I was ten. She was nine.”
Her soft inhale is barely audible, but I feel it.
“We looked for years,” I say, my voice tightening. “My parents never stopped searching. But we didn’t find her until," my throat threatens to close, but I push the words out, “…she showed up on a trafficking page on the dark web.”
Silence.
The air between us is thick, suffocating. My stomach knots, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Carina’s hand slides over my arm, a steady, grounding touch.
“She couldn’t handle it,” I continue, hating how my voice brakes. “Even after we got her back, the trauma was too much. She didn’t survive.”
I swallow hard, fighting past the lump in my throat.
“My dad pulled away after that. It was like the man I knew disappeared overnight. He got… colder. Harder. Like he decided feelings were optional and not part of the family plan anymore.”
Carina’s fingers tighten on my arm. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
I let out a bitter laugh. “Nothing for you to be sorry for, Princess. It’s just… life.”
Her entire body bristles. “No,” she says, voice sharp, almost angry. “It’s not just life. What happened to her, to your family—to me—was monstrous.”
Her words crack something inside me.
“And you’ve turned that pain into something incredible,” she continues, fierce now, eyes blazing. “You’re helping people. You’re saving them.”
The conviction in her voice is undeniable. Unshakable. It catches me off guard—like a punch I didn’t see coming.
“Thanks,” I murmur, my voice rough.
She tilts, studying me like she’s just solved a puzzle.
“You’re like a real-life Arrow,” she says, a teasing smirk on her lips.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, thrown by the shift. “Arrow?”
