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With my freshly brewed coffee in hand, I settled onto the couch. As I took slow sips, my thoughts naturally drifted to my current situation.
I believed him. It was tough to admit that I did, but it was the truth. Before everything soured, I never had a reason to doubt him. Honestly, I loathed acknowledging it, but it was clear that Elena had it out for me. The way she kissed Adrik while he slept, right in front of me, and the audacity to rip my wedding ring off my finger— I couldn't fathom why. I still get chills remembering that moment I shot him. I became this person I couldn't recognize. Thankfully, he came out unscathed, but I couldn’t ignore the reckless side of me that surfaced.
I never thought, not even in my wildest dreams, that I could do something like this. Adrik might have been onto something when he said we were similar. What still nagged at me were his ties to the mafia. Choosing to stay with him would feel like a middle finger to my parents, and it scared me, even though they're gone.
I sensed his presence approaching from behind even before his words reached my ears. "Good morning,Milaya," he greeted in that seductive morning tone of his.
My response was a mumbled acknowledgment as I tried to conceal the involuntary reaction his voice stirred within me, his voice alone made me crave him. The atmosphere was slightly awkward, with lingering tension still palpable between us.
Shifting on the couch, I gestured to the space beside me, inviting him to sit. As he settled down, one of his hands found its way onto my thigh. Swiftly, I removed his hand, mustering the courage to address the impending conversation.
"We need to talk," I declared, reclaiming a sense of assertiveness. His eyebrows furrowed as he asked, "Can't we have a conversation while I touch you?" A teasing pout accompanied his words. Although my lip twitched at the sight, I shook my head. "No, we need to stay focused."
His eyes scanned my face, and a smile crept onto his lips. "Are you suggesting that my touch distracts you?" he teased. Rolling my eyes, I playfully slapped his arm. He recoiled, groaning in pain. It was then that I remembered his injury, and I cursed myself for the oversight.
"I'm really sorry," I apologized, a rush assaulting my senses. "Are you okay? Do you need anything? Should we go to the hospital?" The questions spilled out of me, my heart racing with guilt. The whole situation had me on edge.
In response, he laughed heartily, and my forehead furrowed in confusion. What was so amusing about this? "Only you, baby, can shoot me and still be worried about me," he quipped.
I knew he was joking, but his words triggered a cascade of tears down my cheeks. His eyes widened, and he quickly pulled me into a comforting embrace, soothing me.
"Please don't cry, my love," he reassured me. "I was just teasing you." His hand patted my back as he continued, "You can shoot me a million times, and I'd thank you each time if the night ends like yesterday did." Despite the ridiculousness of his words, they managed to elicit a chuckle from me.
I distanced myself from him. He sensed my need for clear communication, and he respected my need by allowing the space. Seated on the sofa, his hands clenched into fists as he refrained from reaching out to touch me.
Inhaling deeply, I began, "Firstly, I want to apologize once again. I genuinely don't know what came over me. My actions were reckless and wrong, and I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me."
I noticed his mouth opening to interject, but I raised my hand, signaling him to let me finish. "I am also very remorseful for not helping you when I discovered you drugged," the difficulty of my words was increasing. I reached for my mug, taking a sip to moisten my dry mouth. "I wasn't aware of your condition at the time. I witnessed her assaulting you and didn't intervene. For that, I apologize."
He attempted to speak once more, but I urgently exclaimed, "Please! Let me get all of this off my chest." The veins on his neck and forehead protruded, but he nodded, biting his tongue in restraint.
"But even with all that said, I don't regret running away, Adrik. There's a significant part of yourself that you were planning not to disclose to me." Drumming my fingers against the mug, I gazed out the window to compose myself before continuing.
"I understand the depth of your love for me, and I feel the same way about you. It's undeniable that I've missed you during this time, just as you've missed me," I acknowledged. His eyes softened at my words because it was the first time he'd heard me express my love in months. He closed his eyes, seemingly allowing the warm rush of those words to wash over him.
Placing the mug on the coffee table, I clenched my hands into fists, feeling my fingernails digging into my palms.
"But despite our love, we can't be together. You need an heir for the underground, someone to take your place. I can't provide that. I refuse to bring any child of mine into a world where they'dbe groomed for this life," I explained, the weight of my words evident in my tightened lips and the cramping in my stomach.
"I can't take the risk of our future child walking in on their father, mother, or both, mutilated," I added with panic as flashbacks oh what my family experienced filled my mind.
As the words spilled from my mouth, his eyes took on an unsettling darkness. "Nobody's going to lay a finger on you. I'd put them six feet under before they knew what hit them," he growled, spitting out the threat. His eyes were crazed, a glimpse into the brutality he was willing to unleash.
I shook my head, frustration welling up inside me. It was like he couldn't grasp what I was laying out. The atmosphere became suffocating, and I absentmindedly played with the hem of my sweatshirt, feeling the situation bearing down on me.
"I appreciate your resolve, Adrik, but there are no guarantees," I stated with a heavy sigh, the raw truth hanging in the air. "I can't handle the stress, and I damn sure won't pass it on to my future kids."
The silence that followed seemed to stretch into an eternity. Finally, he broke it, offering, "For you, I'd pass it on to someone else."
The shock that hit me was visceral, my eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, my voice shaky.
He ran his hands over his face, a gesture of weariness. "I'm willing to cut ties with it for your sake." My thoughts were a jumbled mess. I couldn't predict if this choice would breed resentment in him. My gaze fell to my fingers, nervously fidgeting as I absorbed his offer. Fear gnawed at me—fear of leaving him, fear of staying.
"Luna," he breathed, "I won't sugarcoat it; it won't be an easy feat. But I promise, for you, I'll make it happen."
It struck me then, a chilling realization akin to a recurring nightmare. The déjà vu chilled my bones. "No!" I exclaimed, closing the gap on the couch, hands on his shoulders, mindful of his injury.
"Wouldn't it hurt you too? Wouldn't they come after you?" I asked. His eyes mirrored the trauma I felt, and his body stiffened. What if he faced the same tragic fate as my parents?
