Chapter 67 What He didn't Tell Her
The door opens without a sound.
I don’t need to look to know who it is.
The bond reacts first,sharp, aching, unmistakable. It tightens around my ribs like a hand closing into a fist, sending a low hum through my veins that makes my skin prickle. My breath catches, my heart stutters, and suddenly the room feels too small, too charged.
I turn anyway.
Darius stands in the doorway.
He doesn’t say a word.
No excuses. No command. No apology.
Just silence,and his eyes on me.
That silence hurts more than anything he could have said.
I push myself upright on the bed, my movements stiff, slow. My body still feels heavy from the collapse at the trial, from the drugs, from the shock,but the rage cuts through all of it, hot and clean and merciless.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and plant my feet on the floor.
“So,” I say, my voice flat. Too calm. The kind of calm that lives right before something explodes. “How long were you planning on letting me live in a lie?”
He closes the door behind him quietly.
Still nothing.
That’s when it happens,the anger surges so fast it steals the air from my lungs.
“You knew,” I say, standing now, every muscle trembling. “You knew about my father. About the files. The experiments. The truth. And you let me hate you for killing him.”
His jaw tightens. I see it. A flicker of something dark passes through his eyes,guilt, pain, restraint,but he still doesn’t speak.
“Say something!” I shout, my voice cracking. “Defend yourself. Tell me why!”
I don’t wait for permission. I don’t wait for reason.
I attack him.
Power rushes to the surface, instinctive and wild, my beast clawing its way up my spine as I lunge forward. My hand glows faintly as I aim for his chest, for his throat,somewhere it will hurt, somewhere it will make him react.
But my body betrays me.
The strength vanishes mid-motion, draining out of me like blood down a sink. My vision blurs. My knees buckle. The room spins violently, and the force of my own rage collapses inward, crushing me instead.
I don’t even have time to scream.
I fall.
Strong arms catch me before I hit the floor.
Darius.
Of course it’s him.
He gathers me against his chest as if it’s instinct, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. My forehead presses into the hard plane of his collarbone, his scent wrapping around me,earth, smoke, something painfully familiar.
“Don’t,” I choke, weakly shoving at him. “Don’t touch me.”
He doesn’t let go.
“I won’t let you fall,” he says quietly.
That’s it.
That’s what breaks me.
A sob rips out of my chest so violently it feels like it might tear me in half. Then another. Then another. My hands clutch at his shirt, not because I want him, but because I have nothing left to hold onto.
“You let me believe you were a monster,” I cry. “Do you know what that did to me? I built my whole hatred around you. Every nightmare. Every day I woke up wanting to escape, wanting you dead—”
My voice collapses into a strangled sound.
“You let me think my father died a hero,” I whisper. “You let me believe he loved me.”
Darius tightens his hold slightly, not trapping, not forcing. Just there. Solid. Enduring.
“I know,” he says.
That makes it worse.
“You don’t get to say that,” I snap, tears blurring my vision. “You don’t get to know and say nothing. You watched me tear myself apart, and you stayed silent.”
His voice is rough when he finally speaks again. “If I had told you then, it would have destroyed you.”
I laugh bitterly through my tears. “And this hasn’t?”
He doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t defend himself.
He doesn’t say he was right.
He just holds me while I shake in his arms, my body wracked with sobs I didn’t know I was capable of anymore.
“I loved him,” I whisper. “No matter what they showed me. No matter what he did. He was my father.”
“I know,” Darius says again, softer this time.
I hit his chest weakly with my fist, once, twice,there’s no strength in it, only grief. “You should have told me. I deserved the truth.”
“Yes,” he says immediately. No hesitation. No excuses. “You did.”
I go still.
That wasn’t what I expected.
Slowly, the rage burns itself out, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and a hollow ache that settles deep in my bones. My forehead rests against his chest, my breathing uneven, my tears soaking into his shirt.
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” I whisper. “I don’t know where the lies end.”
He doesn’t try to fix it. Doesn’t promise things will be okay.
He just stays.
His arms remain around me, steady and warm, anchoring me to the present while my world lies in ruins.
And that—that is what terrifies me most.
Because even now, even after everything, when I fall apart…
He is still the one holding me.