Sleep was out of the question.
It had been hours since I walked out of the bedroom, but her voice still echoed in my head.
Maybe I don't want this world.
Those words gutted me more than any bullet could.
I sat in the study, the room dim except for the flickering glow of the desk lamp. The storm outside had calmed, but the one inside my chest hadn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. I saw the hurt, the fear, the quiet exhaustion she tried so hard to hide from me.
I'd done this to her.
Every ounce of peace she used to have was gone because of me.
The drink in my hand had long gone warm. I didn't care. I just needed something to burn the edge off the guilt crawling through me.
I wanted to go back upstairs. I wanted to pull her close and tell her I was sorry and that I didn't mean to make her feel like a prisoner in the name of protection. But the truth was, love had never made me gentle. It only made me more desperate to keep what was mine.
And Mira…
