Page 53 of Devil in Disguise

Dr. Walker approached, setting her bag down.

I refused to meet her gaze, but I couldn’t ignore the sharp, assessing look she gave me before addressing me. “Why don’t you make us some tea?” she suggested. “I’d like to speak with Danny alone first.”

The suggestion felt like a lifeline, a chance to escape the suffocating pressure of my own guilt and the silent accusation in Dante’s eyes. But I also saw it as a betrayal. A betrayal of the very honesty I craved—the painful, necessary confession that should be made openly, not hidden away in a hushed consultation. I wanted to protest, to demand my truth be aired, to force the confrontation my heart screamed for. But the thought of more pain, more hurt inflicted on Dante, silenced me. I didn’t have the right. I had already caused enough grief.

“Danny, my name is Haizley. Do you mind if I sit down?”

I slowly shook my head, my gaze fixed on the worn rug, a silent battle raging within me. The doctor’s presence felt invasive.

A spotlight on the festering wound of my betrayal.

“How are you feeling, Danny?”

“I don’t want to be here.” My words were a lie, a desperate attempt to shield myself from the truth. I needed to be here, needed to unravel this tangled mess, but the prospect terrified me.

“Why not?”

I shrugged, my eyes drifting to Dante, who calmly placed a kettle on the stove—a picture of domestic serenity that felt both alien and agonizingly familiar. The memory of his touch, the sound of his laughter, a faint echo now, flickered like a dying ember, choked by the heavy ash of my actions. A ghostly warmth against the chilling weight of guilt.He’ll never forgive me, I thought, the chilling certainty sending shivers down my spine and a clenching knot in my gut. My guilt gnawed at me, a relentless, parasitic creature feeding on my self-worth.

“He still loves you, Danny.”

Turning back to the doctor, the words caught in my throat.

“He hates me.” Part of me desperately hoped it was true. A clean break. His justified rejection would be easier to bear than the crushing weight of his undeserved forgiveness.

“Why do you think that?”

I couldn’t say the words. Just thinking about it felt like a physical blow. It wasn’t just the act itself. It was the violation of everything I believed in, everything I’d promised myself.

Honor. Loyalty. Love.

I’d shattered them all.

“Danny, did Dante tell you he hated you?”

“No.”

The air throbbed with unspoken accusations, conveying much more than words could. It was worse than outright rejection. It was the agonizing suspense, the possibility of his forgiveness, a forgiveness I felt utterly undeserving of.

She leaned back, studying me with keen eyes. “Danny, typically I know nothing about my clients before I meet them. So, I’m going to confess something to you. I know a little bit about who you are and what you’ve been through lately. I am here to tell you that everything you are feeling is normal.”

“No, it’s not!” I snapped, my carefully constructed façade crumbling as my body shook. “I’m not normal. I’m a fucking monster! I ruined the only thing that ever mattered to me.” My words were a desperate plea, a demand for justification that I knew I wouldn’t receive. Grabbing my head, I started rocking back and forth, closing my eyes tight as I tried to get Dante’s pained eyes out of my head.

I couldn’t bear to see them anymore.

“Danny, take a deep breath for me.”

“I did this to us. He hates me,” I muttered. “He will never forgive me.”

My words were the bitter truth. A testament to the chasm that had opened between the man I was and the man I’d become. My memory loss was just an excuse, a cruel twist of fate that had forced me to betray my own moral compass. And the worst part? A part of me, a dark, shameful part, almost wished I could justify it, wished I could find some solace in the fractured remnants of my identity. The thought itself was a betrayal and the inner turmoil intensified, until it became a tempest of guilt and self-loathing that threatened to consume me.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dante

I settled beside Danny on the couch as Dr. Walker began the session. “I invited you here because this affects you as well,” she began, her gaze steady. “My understanding is you’ve helped Danny during his episodes of emotional instability. Is that accurate?”

I murmured a confirmation, glancing at Danny, whose eyes were fixed on the floor. “But I wouldn’t characterize them asepisodes,” I corrected, my voice low. “More like he reached a breaking point and needed help to manage the overwhelming chaos.”

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