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“I knew you’d try to stop me.”
The admission is like a slap across the face. “So you decided to lie instead?”
He grunts. “I decided to handle it myself so you wouldn’t have to worry about something you couldn’t control.”
“I knew you had to go after him, but you were supposed to warn me.” I stare at him, trying to reconcile this man with the one who held me while promising me a future built on trust and honesty over the past few weeks. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”
He moves closer, though I can see the effort it costs him. “Sabrina, please?—”
I turn away from him because I can’t look at his face without feeling the urge to either scream or cry. “No. I can’t do this anymore.”
“What do you mean?” His voice trembles slightly.
I face him again, drawing strength from the anger burning in my chest. “I mean I can’t raise a child with a man who lies to me about the risks he’s taking and expects me to just accept it.”
“It was one mission,” he says with a hint of anger. “One final mission to eliminate the last threat to our family.”
I snort. “And the next time? When another enemy emerges or another crisis demands your attention? What happens then? Do you just disappear again and expect me to sit here without knowing what’s happening to you?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, which tells me everything I need to know.
“I want to go home.” The words come out steadier than I feel, but I mean them completely. I can’t stay here anymore, surrounded by reminders of promises that were apparently meaningless from the moment they were made.
He straightens despite the obvious pain. “This is your home.”
“No, it’s not. This is your fortress. My home is the apartment I share with Jessie, where no one lies to me about midnight raids or gets shot defending territory.”
His voice carries an edge of command that makes my spine stiffen with rebellion. “You can’t leave.”
I glare at him. “Watch me.” I move toward the staircase, intending to pack a bag and call Jessie to pick me up. He follows, clearly struggling with the injury but determined not to let me out of his sight.
“Sabrina, stop. You’re not thinking clearly.”
I whirl around at the top of the stairs. “I’m thinking more clearly than I have in weeks. This is exactly what I was afraid of. I fell for a man who says all the right things but can’t actually change who he is.”
He looks torn between anger and frustration, and it bleeds through his voice. “I am changing. I told you about the succession plans, about stepping away from the organization, and warned you I had to deal with Vadim.”
“You also told me you’d be honest about when that happened, but then you sneaked out at dawn to get into a gunfight. Do you see the contradiction there?”
He reaches for me, but I step back despite the many steps between us. The gesture feels too much like manipulation, like he’s trying to use our physical connection to distract me from the very real betrayal that brought us to this point. “Don’t touch me right now.”
He drops his hand. “Please just calm down and think about this rationally.”
I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady and suppress the creeping anger. “I am being rational. I’m protecting myself and our daughter from a man who apparently can’t keep his word about the most basic requirements for our relationship.”
He grimaces with pain, though I don’t know if it’s physical or emotional. “I kept my word about everything that matters.”
I snort softly. “Honesty matters. Trust matters. You just proved I can’t rely on you for either one.” I continue toward the bedroom, with him following slowly behind. Each step feels like progress toward reclaiming some control over my life and my future.I speak without turning around. “You can’t control me, and I won’t stay somewhere I don’t feel safe.”
“You’re safe here.”
I hesitate at the bedroom doorway, turning to face him. “I’m safe from outside threats, but I’m not safe from you making unilateral decisions about our lives and expecting me to just accept whatever consequences follow.”
I move deeper into the room as he lingers in the hallway to pull a suitcase from the closet and begin throwing clothes into it without much regard for organization. The physical activity helps channel some of the emotional energy burning through my system.
He leans against the doorframe, watching me pack with an expression I can’t quite read. “Where will you go?”
“Back to my apartment. Back to my life.” I toss in a handful of maternity underwear. “I’ll see if Jessie is ready to come home too.”