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And somehow that terrified her more than anything else.
Conspiracy.
Solicitation.
Accessory.
Murder-for-hire.
It didn’t matter what the prosecutors called it.
If they connected Ronan to the assassination, he would spend the rest of his life behind bars.
“I stopped you from throwing your life away,” he said, breaking the silence.
“You arranged a murder.” She laughed. A broken, disbelieving sound. “And somehow, I’m the one throwing my life away?”
“Yours is the only life that matters to me.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
She laughed again. The sound was hollow.
She wrapped her arms around herself. Trying to hold herself together. “My grandfather took my choices away.”
Ronan went still.
“My father took my choices away.”
Pain flashed across his face.
“My uncle took my choices away.”
His face drained of color.
She swallowed hard. “And now you.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
The question hung between them.
Raw. Brutal.
“You drugged me.”
He flinched.
“You made a decision about my life without my consent.”
“Because I love you.”
“You don’t get to decide what risks I’m allowed to take.” Her voice trembled.
Not with anger. With heartbreak.
