Page 131 of Bitten & Burned
“Honestly—” Vael exhaled, sharp.
“No. Shut up. Both of you—for once, just listen.”
They froze. Good.
“She walked away from me thinking she’s unlovable,” Isnapped, heat boiling in my chest. “Thinking the only time she’s ever heard ‘I love you’ was from someone who fucking regretted it.”
Vael’s mouth opened, but I cut him off.
“I told her I love her,” I said, pointing at him. “And she said she’s never heard it before. Ever. Don’t tell me you don’t know what that means.”
Vael turned away, jaw locked. Anton’s mouth opened, then shut again—like the words died before they could form.
The bond clawed at me, jagged and raw. Every accusation I threw felt like it was being dragged out of my chest by her pain, not mine.
“And you,” I said, swinging my attention to Anton. “You took her out for a good time on your yacht, let it get interrupted by intruders, pawned her off on Cassian, then fucked off up the shore—without once telling her you loved her?”
Anton’s face twitched—guilt, maybe—but he said nothing.
“I said it,” I went on. “Told her. Maybe wrong. Maybe like a fucking gut punch. But at least I said it. Someone had to.”
I looked between them.
“This isn’t even my game,” I said, quieter. “You two were supposed to have the words. The confidence. The history. She trusted you. Chose you.”
I shook my head.
“And you left it all sitting on the floor like it didn’t matter.”
Neither of them met my eyes.
“I picked it up,” I said. “Me. The feral fuck-up. The one who breaks everything he touches.”
Vael opened his mouth. Closed it.
Anton’s hands flexed at his sides.
“I didn’t want to be first,” I admitted. “But I was. And it broke her. She thought I hated loving her. Maybe I did. But not because she’s unlovable. Because I never thought I deserved to love someone like her.”
Silence.
Thick. Sharp. A blade on the verge of falling.
“I’m going to tell her the truth,” I said finally. “About the brand. About everything. And I’m going to tell her again that I love her. Not because I have to. Because I need to.”
I looked at them one last time.
“You should’ve done it first.” I cut my eyes to Vael. “A long while ago.”
I turned to go.
But before I reached the door, Anton spoke—quiet, but not soft.
“I wanted to.”
I stopped.
He didn’t step closer. Didn’t change his tone. Just stood there, flour on his sleeve, guilt clinging to his voice like smoke.
