Page 67 of Sage Haven

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In her and in me.

And when it finally broke, I wasn’t sure who would survive it.

I didn’t want to hurt her.

But it was a lie I told myself to stay sane.

Because I already was.

Every cold word.

Every hollow stare.

Every brutal dismissal.

It wasn’t just driving her away—it was dismantling her.

And somewhere deep in the rotted core of me, I knew I was setting the stage for something I couldn’t undo.

I was making her brittle and fragile.

Breaking her down into something I could hold in my hands.

And it wasn’t for mercy’s sake.

It was strategy.

Because when I took her—and I would—I needed her to trust me.

Stripped bare of resistance, pliable enough for me to extract every secret, every truth she had no idea she was keeping.

And I was making damn sure I was the only place she could turn when the bottom dropped out.

Her persistence was admirable.

But also, reckless.

There was something in her, something that wouldn’t be dismissed, a hunger for answers so fierce it was consuming her from the inside out.

She didn’t just want the truth.

She needed it.

The way a drowning woman needs air.

Like if she could just understand why the world had carved her into pieces, maybe she could stitch herself back together again.

Maybe she thought I was the key.

And maybe, in some twisted, cruel way—she was right.

I thought it was endearing.

But mostly, it was a liability.

And liabilities needed to be controlled.

But she kept saying my name, as if she’d known me for years instead of days.

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