Page 158 of Emylia

I didn’t let him finish. I couldn’t.

“Itis. The only people who’ve ever stayed—ever tolerated me—are the ones fundamentally designed that way. My mom. My dad. My uncle. They were created to love me, regardless of whether I’m a huge disappointment.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “But you… you weren’t. You didn’thaveto love me. And you still saw something in me. You still chose me. You loved me regardless.”

I looked at him, tears clouding my vision. “But what if you’re wrong about me? What if I don’t become the person you believe I am? What if I fall short of your expectations? What ifbeing meisn’t good enough?”

My voice dropped, stripped bare. “Failing you would be my greatest downfall.”

Sebastian’s gaze didn’t waver. His eyes locked with mine—flecked with darkness, dancing in the candlelight. But behind them was only sorrow. Understanding.

He knew me too well. Knew that my defiance, my sarcasm, my sharp tongue—they were armor. Distraction. A mask for the one truth I could never shake.

That deep down, I believed I wasn’t enough.

Yet, he saw me.

All of me.

He saw the wreckage I tried to hide. The quiet ache underneath it all.

“Youareenough,” he said, each word deliberate. Like truth. Like prayer.

I heard him. I just… couldn’t believe him.

Not when the shame ran so deep it felt carved into bone. Not when it clung so tightly it felt branded into my skin. His truth would never be mine. I could ignore it, sometimes. Maybe even pretend. But I would never truly accept it.

Sebastian pulled me into his arms again, holding me like I was something sacred.

“You are worthy of love,” he whispered. “Beyondworthy.”

My shoulders trembled. Tears spilled freely, the ache too much to hold inside. It wasn’t that I thought he was lying. No matter how many times he said it, it would never sit comfortably inside me.

This ache—this festering wound tearing me apart—was all-consuming. It started in my chest and swelled like a swirling storm of insidious darkness. Most days, it lay dormant. But when it didn’t, it came with a fierceness that stole my breath and devoured my identity. It stripped me bare—ripped away everything I was—until I was naked, alone, and vulnerable. And at its mercy… my mind begged for surrender.

For release.

No—“ache” wasn’t a strong enough word. It was more than that. It was aplague—something corrosive that lived inside me, curling itself around my lungs until even breathing became an act of survival. Each inhale wasn’t relief. It was resistance. Every breath burned like drowning, like dragging shattered glass through my ribs just to prove I was still here.

Existing didn’t feel like living—it felt like beingclaimed. Like my own body had turned on me, stripping me of everything I was, everything I wanted to be.

There was no escape.

No quiet.

No peace.

Just the suffocating weight of not being enough.

Ofneverbeing enough.

How could I ever possibly putthatinto words?

How could I even begin to explain the way my own self-worth destroyed me—layer by layer, breath by breath? Evenhecouldn’t save me from that. Save me from myself.

Then he looked at me—and something shifted.

Not just in the room.

Not just between us.

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