“Is it not?” he whispered. “Everything is broken. My sister, my name, my world. And the one thing—the one person—who has made any of this bearable… he nearly ruined you.”
Her gaze softened. “But he did not.”
He looked away, shoulders shaking. “Only because I reached you in time. What if next time I do not? What if next time he—”
“Then we take steps,” she said firmly. “We prepare. We protect Georgiana. We protect each other. But we do not become like him.”
“It would be worth it, to rid the world of him.”
“I do not believe you.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “You do not think me capable of murder?”
“I think,” she said slowly, “that you arecapableof anything. But what matters is not what youcando—it is what youchooseto do.”
He stilled at that.
She stepped closer, her hand gently brushing his sleeve. “You are a good man, Fitzwilliam Darcy. You are angry—rightly so. But you are not wicked. You are not cruel. You are not a man who would commit murder in a blind rage.”
He closed his eyes.
Her grip tightened. “No, Fitzwilliam. I willnotallow you to kill him.”
His shoulders slumped. “How can you even want him alive? After what he tried to do?”
“I know,” she said steadily, though her voice was hushed, “and, God forgive me, Idowish him dead. But that does not mean we abandon our principles.”
“What principles? What honor remains in this twisted world? I wished myself into it—I erased everything I knew. And now I am left powerless to fix it. If I cannot stop him, what good am I?”
“You arenotpowerless,” she said fiercely. “You stopped him today. You protected me. You protected Georgiana. That is what matters.”
He turned away, his voice rough. “It is not enough. He will come back.”
“Then we make a plan. We find a way to stop him without losing ourselves in the process.”
Darcy dragged both hands through his hair, wild and unkempt from the morning’s chaos. “You do not understand. Iwantto kill him. I want to see his blood on my hands. I do not care about consequences. I—”
“Youdocare,” she interrupted, stepping closer. “You care so much that it is eating you alive. But you are not a murderer,Fitzwilliam. You are not a brute. You are a good man—whether this world sees it or not.”
“Elizabeth—”
“You would regret it, Fitzwilliam. I know you would.”
“Would it even matter? Does this world, this Wickham, even exist? Once we return home, no one would even know.”
“Youwould know.” She looked pleadingly into his eyes. “This man has already stolen so much from so many. Do not allow him to steal your soul, too.”
He stared at her—at the sincerity in her eyes, the gentle defiance in her stance. Her face was pale, but her gaze was steady. She had endured so much, and still she stood here, defending that… thatmonster.
“Then tell me what to do.” His voice cracked. “Tell me how to stop wanting to destroy him.”
Her hand rose to his face, fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “You do not have to stop feeling it. You only have to choose to notacton it. To be better than he is.”
Darcy swallowed hard. The tightness in his chest began to ease—not vanish, but loosen enough for breath to return.
“I want to take you away from here,” he said hoarsely. “I want to put you somewhere safe. I cannot breathe, knowing he is near you.”
“I know.” Her voice was tender. “But you do not have to carry that burden alone.”
