Chapter 233

Chapter 233
Stefan's POV

Emily stopped walking. Turned to face me fully, her hands coming up to rest against my chest.

"Now I understand." Her eyes searched mine. "It's not about the timeline. It's about... when you find the right person, everything else looks different. Even ordinary things become special."

I stared at her. My heart was doing something weird—hammering too fast, too hard.

"There's this psychology concept," Emily said. "The halo effect. When you love someone, you perceive everything about them more positively. Their habits become endearing instead of annoying. Their flaws become quirks. Even their worst days seem manageable because you're seeing them through this filter of affection."

She was explaining it like a textbook definition. Clinical. Detached.

But her hands were trembling against my chest.

"What I'm trying to say is..." She took a breath. "No matter how I look at it—no matter what angle or framework or theory I use—you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Fuck.

My throat closed up. I couldn't speak.

She thinks I'm infertile. She saw the report—or the doctor told her—and now she's trying to reassure me that it doesn't matter. That she doesn't care.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut.

She had no idea. No clue that the real issue was her body, not mine. That Harrison's antidote would probably leave her sterile. That I'd orchestrated this whole deception to spare her the guilt.

And here she was, standing in the middle of a sidewalk, telling me I was enough.

"Stefan?" Her brow furrowed. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No." My voice came out rough. "No, you didn't."

I pulled her close, burying my face in her hair. She smelled like lavender and something sweet—maybe the vanilla shampoo she'd started using. I breathed her in, trying to steady myself.

She wrapped her arms around my waist, pressing her cheek against my chest. "You're always first," she murmured. "In my heart. In my priorities. That's never going to change."

God. She was killing me.

"You too," I managed. "You're... you're everything, Em."

She pulled back slightly, smiling up at me. "Good answer."

I forced myself to smile back. To act normal. Like my entire world wasn't tilting on its axis.

We started walking again. I deliberately positioned myself on her left side, between her and the street, so the afternoon sun wouldn't hit her face directly. Old habit. I'd been doing it since our first real date—steering her away from harsh light, cold wind, anything that might make her uncomfortable.

She noticed. She always noticed.

"You don't have to do that," she said quietly.

"Do what?"

"Block the sun for me." But her smile was soft. Fond. "I'm not going to melt."

"Humor me."

We turned onto Riverside Avenue. The trees here formed a canopy overhead, their branches intertwining to create patterns of light and shadow on the pavement. Emily's pace had slowed again. I could feel her leaning more heavily on my arm.

The antidote was working. Harrison had confirmed as much in his last report. The toxins in her bloodstream were being neutralized. But the process was exhausting her body—fighting years of accumulated poison took energy she didn't have to spare.

And the side effects...

I pushed the thought away.

"Hey," I said, trying to distract both of us. "Want to take a trip?"

She looked up, surprised. "Now?"

"Soon. Maybe next week." I kept my tone casual. "I was thinking we could go to London. See your parents."

Her parents' graves. At Highgate Cemetery, where they'd been buried after the "accident."

Emily's entire body went still. For a moment I thought I'd miscalculated—brought up something too painful, too raw.

Then her face transformed.

The sadness that had been shadowing her expression all day lifted. Her eyes brightened. A real smile—the kind that made her whole face light up—spread across her features.

"Really?" Her voice was breathless. "You'd do that?"

"Of course." I brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "They're important to you. I want to pay my respects."

She threw her arms around my neck, nearly knocking me off balance. I caught her automatically, one hand splaying across her back, the other coming up to cradle her head.

"Thank you," she whispered against my throat. "Thank you, Stefan."

I held her there in the middle of the sidewalk, not caring about the pedestrians who had to walk around us. She was trembling—whether from emotion or exhaustion, I couldn't tell.

Probably both.

"We'll go whenever you're ready," I promised. "No rush."

She nodded against my shoulder. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were wet.

"Sorry," she said, wiping at them quickly. "I don't know why I'm being so emotional."

Because you think your husband is infertile and you're trying to be strong about it. Because you've been carrying this weight for days, pretending everything's fine.

Because you have no idea that in a few months, when Harrison's antidote finishes its work, you'll be the one unable to have children naturally.

The guilt was a physical thing—heavy and sharp in my chest.

"Don't apologize." I cupped her face in my hands, forcing myself to meet her eyes. "You never have to apologize for feeling things. Not with me."

She leaned into my touch. "Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve you."

The words were a knife between my ribs.

Nothing. You did nothing. I'm the one lying to you. Manipulating you. Making decisions about your body without your knowledge.

But I couldn't tell her. Not yet.

When she was stronger—when the antidote had finished its work and she was no longer dying—then we'd face the infertility together. We'd explore options. IVF. Surrogacy. Adoption. Whatever it took.

Medical science was advancing every year. Who knew what might be possible five years from now? Ten?

The important thing was keeping her alive long enough to find out.

"Come on." I took her hand again, lacing our fingers together. "Let's get you home. You're exhausted."

She didn't argue. Just leaned against my side as we walked back toward where I'd parked the car.

The sun was lower now, painting everything in shades of amber and gold. Emily's shadow stretched long beside mine on the pavement—two silhouettes merged together, inseparable.

I memorized the moment. The weight of her against my arm. The way her hair caught the light. The absolute trust in her eyes when she looked up at me.

Later—when she learned the truth about what I'd done—I might lose this. Lose her faith in me. Her belief that I always acted in her best interest.

But I'd have her alive to hate me.

And that was enough.

It had to be enough.

"Stefan?" Her voice was small. Uncertain.


"Yeah?"

"Whatever happens... we'll figure it out together, right?"

I stopped walking. Turned to face her fully. "Always."

She searched my face for something—reassurance, maybe. Or confirmation that I meant it.

I held her gaze steadily. Willing her to believe me.

Finally, she nodded. Smiled. "Okay."

"Okay," I echoed.