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“Can I ask you something?”
“Hm?”
“You can say no, but… uh…” I know I should shut up, but I can’t. “What was prison like?”
Aran turns his head toward me. I feel his hand tense between my legs, and a crease forms between his brows.
“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to pry. If it’s too much—”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Uh…”
“Don’t say ‘just because.’”
There’s real sadness in his voice. In that moment, I know that he deserves the truth. He lost five years of his life for something he loved, while I got away with my sin because I was born into the “right” family.
I swallow the thick lump in my throat. “Because… I probably belong there too.”
I can’t read Aran’s expression. If I had to guess, I’d say disbelief. But there’s something else in those dark blue eyes.
Curiosity.
He moves his hand back and props his head up again. “What do you mean?”
I feel exposed and miss his touch, but I know I’ve ruined the moment.
“I got revenge on the man who killed my mother… and I got away with it. Thanks to my father.”
Aran opens his mouth, then closes it, needing a second to process. “Why are you telling me this?” he asks warily.
A cold wave crashes over me and panic sets in. “You’re right,” I say, sitting up. “I—I shouldn’t have—”
Before I can get up, Aran’s hand lands on my bare stomach. “Don’t go,” he says.
His warmth steadies me, even though suspicion is still written all over his face.
“Shit… I don’t know why I’m telling you this…” I rub my face in disbelief. “I’ve never told anyone. This…”
“And you’re telling the guy who has an interview in two days and could tell the whole world?”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Guess it shows how tired I am of carrying this secret. God.”
I tuck my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. Only when Aran places a hand on my back do I realize I’m shaking all over.
“Hey,” he says gently, sitting up too. “It’s okay. Why would I tell anyone?”
“I—I don’t know?”
“Koh. Look at me.” Aran tilts his head, catches my gaze, and takes my hand. “You said something about revenge. What happened?”
“I… uh… I killed the man who murdered my mother. He was my stepfather.”
Images of Jerry flash through my mind—the brown-haired man lying beneath me, eyes wide, mouth open, weakly trying to push me off while I strangled him with both hands. The memory of life leaving his body still twists my stomach. I slap a hand to my mouth.
“He made our lives hell. It was pure psychological torture. We were prisoners. It started after his father died. Something in Jerry snapped. Fuck…” I swallow the bile rising in my throat. “That wasn’t me. It was someone else. The Mafia part of me and the endless hunger for revenge my real father gave me. He was proud of me. Already saw my bright future in the family business.” My voice is barely a whisper. “But all I wanted was my mom back.”
“How old were you?” Aran’s voice sounds far away.
