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“You knew I was your mate.”

“Yes.”

“Before I told you I was choosing.”

Max looked like he wanted to explain, but there wasn’t an explanation that could change the answer. When it finally came, his voice was barely audible. “Yes.”

For a second, I couldn’t say anything.

I’d thought the worst part would be wondering whether what I felt for him was real. That was terrifying enough, having every moment I’d trusted myself suddenly become something I could pick apart and question, but this hurt somewhere different.

Because this wasn’t about dragons or mate bonds or some lifebound shit I hadn’t even known existed ten minutes ago.

This was Max.

“You’ve spent weeks telling me I get to choose.” My voice sounded strangely calm, which was probably the only reason I managed to keep going. “You let me decide whether I wanted you in Vegas. You let me decide whether I wanted you in my apartment. You let me decide whether I wanted you touching me after I told you about my mom. When I was drugged and practically climbing you, you wouldn’t take advantage of it because you wanted me sober enough to know what I was doing.”

“I meant every one of those things.”

That was the problem. If he hadn’t meant them, maybe this would have been easier. If all those careful moments had been bullshit, I could have been angry and stayed angry, but I knew Max. I knew how seriously he’d taken every choice he’d handed back to me.

Which meant he had known exactly what taking one away would mean.

“I know you meant them,” I said, quieter now. “That almost makes this worse.”

My gaze went to the flattened hay behind him before I could stop it. I’d brought him in here.

I’d told him what I wanted.

I’d put him on his knees and watched this huge, impossible man give up control because he trusted me with it. I’d looked at him and told him I was still there, as though I was the one proving something.

All the while, he’d known something about me that I hadn’t. Something that might have changed my choice.

When I looked back at him, whatever he saw in my face made him take half a step toward me before stopping himself.

“You wanted me to have choices,” I said. “But you were still deciding what information I got before I made them.”

“Ash—”

“No. You don’t get to make this about protecting me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were. Maybe not only that, but you were.” My throat tightened, and I hated it because I didn’t want to sound hurt. Anger would have been easier. “You keep asking me to trust you enough to tell you everything. My dad. My mom. The money. The video. Every fucked-up thing I’ve spent years making sure nobody could use against me.”

Max went very still.

“You want every ugly thing I’ve got while you’re still deciding which parts of you I’m allowed to know.”

The words landed hard between us, and for the first time since this conversation started, Max looked like I’d actually hurt him.

Good.

Then I hated myself for thinking it.

“I was afraid.”

Something about the way he said it stripped the satisfaction away before I’d even had time to feel it. “Of me?”