Page 97 of Bitter Truths

“I assume one of you would’ve mentioned by now if you have kids with her…?” I swallow hard.

Owen’s expression darkens. “No, thank fuck. Whitney can’t have kids. Her father experimented on her when she was younger. Made her infertile.”

We sit in charged silence, processing everything that’s been said. The weight of his body underneath me should feel uncomfortable, but instead it grounds me. It makes me feel safe despite the horrible things we’re discussing.

“Princess.”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to know…”

I wait, watching emotions flicker across his face.

“When we were forced together like that… and with her, with the others—it wasn’t real. It wasn’t what we wanted. Never, not even once. It was just survival, doing what we had to do to get through it.”

“I know.”

His eyes search mine urgently. “I need you to understand that none of it changed how I feel about you. How any of us feel about you. I’ll be honest… you are the only reason some of us are still here.”

The vulnerability in his voice makes my throat knot up. This man is laying himself bare for me. The thought that I could have lost any of them permanently because of this sick game she’s been playing is too much to bear.

He flips us over so I’m pinned beneath him, his hands braced on either side of my head.

It feels like coming home… The space between us crackles with tension as his scent surrounds me, making it impossible to think clearly. All I can focus on is the weight of him above me, the way his arms flex as he holds himself up, how easy it would be to arch up and close the distance between our mouths.

“Owen.” I slide my hands into his hair, and he closes his eyes. “She didn’t change how I feel about you either. You’re still⁠—”

Mine. The word sits on my tongue, too dangerous to say aloud.

“Still what?”

“Still the man I always thought you were.”

The words hang between us, soft but weighted with everything I don’t say.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” His voice drops to that gravelly register that sets my insides alight.

The admission shatters what’s left of my control. My hands tighten in his hair, and I arch up toward him instinctively.

He meets me halfway, lowering his head until our breaths mingle. We’re so close, I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

His mouth hovers just above mine. “Tell me to stop.”

“I can’t.”

Raw hunger flashes in his eyes. His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone.

“I’ve thought about kissing you every day since your birthday,” he confesses. “Wondered if you’d still respond the same way. If you’d still⁠—”

Our lips brush, just a hint of contact, but it sends electricity shooting through my entire body. I gasp against his mouth, and he groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating between us.

“Well, this is fucking interesting.”

We spring apart like we’ve been electrocuted. Tristan stands in the doorway in black athletic shorts and a white shirt that shows off his lean frame, taking in our position with raised eyebrows and a knowing smirk.

Of course he looks perfect too. This is like some sick nightmare—all of them within reach but untouchable... if I were being smart like the girl I’ve forged myself to be.

But based on the fact that I can still feel the ghost of Owen’s lips on mine… I’m not.