Page 147 of Riot

And I needed to say it out loud just to survive it.

I glanced at the clock again—10:42 p.m. My leg was bouncing under the barstool, heart knocking against my ribs like it was trying to break out. I didn’t know if I wanted him to hold me… or hate me.

The front door clicked open.

Footsteps. Measured. Heavy. His.

I stood up too fast, the stool scraping against the floor. My heart slammed against my chest when he stepped into the kitchen, shirt damp with sweat, jaw tight, Glock tucked into the waistband of his pants, a reminder of who he was.

His eyes found mine instantly.

And everything I’d rehearsed vanished.

“Allure,” he said, low.

“I was wrong,” I blurted, voice cracking.

He froze.

“I was wrong,” I said again, chest rising fast. “About everything. About you. About my father.”

His gaze stayed on me, hard and unreadable. The kind of stare that could burn a person alive or break them open.

I walked toward him, slow and shaky.

“My father wasn’t who I thought he was,” I said. “He wasn’t some tragic man who lost his way. He sold me. To Boaz. Over a gambling debt.”

Riot’s face didn’t move, but I saw the shift in his eyes. That flicker of rage and understanding. Like puzzle pieces snapping into place.

“My mother and aunt confirmed it,” I whispered. “I overheard them. He didn’t just get caught up. Hechoseto give me away. And then he lied about it for years.”

My voice cracked.

“I spent ten years locked away in a cage because of the man who was supposed to protect me. And I still carried him in my heart like he was everything. Like he deserved my grief.”

The tears came hard now. Hot and sudden. I didn’t try to stop them.

“I’m sorry,” I choked out. “For pointing that gun at you. For walking away. For not seeing the truth.”

Riot moved then. Closed the space between us in two steps. His arms came around me like steel gates, locking me into theone place that felt safe. I collapsed into his chest, sobbing hard, the sound torn from somewhere deep inside me.

He didn’t speak right away.

Just held me.

One hand on the back of my head. The other curved around my spine, pressing me into his warmth, his breath, his strength.

“I hated him for what he did,” Riot finally said, voice low against my temple. “Not because he was your father. But because he was a threat. Because he tried to take something from us.”

I nodded against his chest, gripping his shirt like it was the only thing holding me together.

“You were right,” I whispered. “Even when I didn’t want you to be.”

We stayed like that for a long moment, my tears soaking into his skin, his arms unflinching like he could shoulder the whole weight of my pain.

But I wasn’t done.

There was more.

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