“That’s the first time I learned of his involvement. The full century of revenge I never knew about. Margaret. Corinne. All the years of believing I was cursed, when really I was being hunted.” I meet her eyes. “Three women, Poppy. Three women who loved me. All of them dead because of that love.”
“Because of Damien,” she corrects fiercely. “Not because of you. Because of him.”
“The distinction doesn’t matter to them. They’re still gone.”
“The distinction matters to me.” She grips my hands harder. “You didn’t kill them, Julian. He did. You loved them, and he destroyed them. That’s not the same thing.”
“But the pattern—”
“Damien’s choice. His obsession. His cruelty.” Her voice shakes with intensity. “You didn’t make him into this. The hunters killed Katya. The grief twisted him. But every death after that—every woman, every decade of stalking and murder—that was his choice. Not yours.”
“I created him. I turned him. If I hadn’t—”
“If you hadn’t, he would have died. Would that have been better? A good man dying young instead of a monster living forever?” She shakes her head. “You gave him a gift. He turned it into a weapon. That’s on him.”
I stare at her. At the fire in her eyes, the certainty in her voice.
“You’re not afraid,” I say.
“I’m terrified. But not of you.” She caresses my face. “I’m terrified of losing you. I’m terrified of what tomorrow might bring. But I’m not afraid of loving you, Julian. Not even knowing all of this.”
“You should be.”
“Probably. But I’m not.” She holds my gaze. “I told Damien I was choosing love over fear. I meant it. I still mean it.”
“Even knowing what happened to the others?”
“Even knowing all of that.” She slowly strokes my cheek. “I’m not Margaret. I’m not Corinne. I’m not Anya. I know what’s hunting me. I know who’s standing beside me. And I’m choosing to stay anyway.”
“Poppy—”
“You’ve spent all these years believing you were cursed. Believing that loving you was a death sentence.” Her voice softens. “But you weren’t cursed, Julian. You were being hunted by someone who couldn’t let go of his grief. That’s different. And tomorrow, we’re going to end it.”
“We might not win.”
“Then we’ll lose together.” She leans forward and presses her forehead to mine. “But at least we’ll have faced it together. That’s more than the others had. That’s more than he’ll expect.”
I pull her close. Hold her like she’s the only real thing in a world full of shadows. Her heartbeat thuds against my chest—steady, strong, alive.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you, too.” She pulls back slightly, wiping her eyes. “Now. I need to call Sage to help her chill out. And we have the rehearsal dinner tonight, which means I need to look like I haven’t been crying over century-old trauma.”
“You look beautiful.”
“I look like a disaster.” But she’s smiling through the tears. “Give me an hour. Shower, makeup, emotional recovery. Then we go pretend everything’s normal for my family.”
“An hour.”
“Maybe ninety minutes. I have a lot of feelings to process.”
She stands. Pauses. Looks back at me.
“Julian?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For trusting me with all of it.” She holds my gaze. “I know that wasn’t easy.”
