Page 41 of His to Destroy

“You’ve been saying that since the night of the gala,” I remind him.

“Truth should be spoken more frequently so lies don’t have a place to rest and fester.”

His voice is quiet. Certain.

And dangerous.

Because every time he says things like that, I believe him a little more.

And I can’t afford to.

I lean back in the chair, staring into the fire crackling softly behind the glass.

“What are we doing, Gaspare?”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“This marriage. This—” I wave a hand between us. “It’s not fake anymore. At least not all of it.”

He doesn’t deny it.

And that scares me more than if he had.

“I need to know what this is,” I say. “Because if I start believing it’s real, and you’re still thinking of me as a strategic move, I—”

“You’re not,” he cuts in.

His voice is rough. Barely restrained.

“You’re not a move. You’re not a piece. You’re… Almeria.”

My breath catches.

He leans forward.

“You’re the only thing in my life I didn’t plan for. And the only thing I don’t want to lose.”

I want to believe him.

But the memory of that diary—of how vulnerable I was when he found it, and how cruelly he used that vulnerability—still haunts me.

So I say, “The last time you found out how I felt about you, I ended up broken in an alley.”

He flinches like I’ve hit him.

“Almeria—”

“I’m not saying it to hurt you,” I say quickly. “I’m saying it because I need to protect myself. I can’t survive that kind of betrayal again. I won’t.”

He doesn’t speak.

And maybe that says more than anything else could.

I rise to leave.

But he stops me.

Not with words.

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