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I shrug, feigning a nonchalance I don’t feel. “There were many factors, but none of them were his doing. That’s all that’s important.”

She sighs, a sound of both frustration and acceptance. “Is he dangerous?”

“Yes,” I admit. “But not to me. He loves me, and not only that, he loves me for who I am. He’s never wanted to change me.”

She flinches at the dig but refrains from defending herself this time.

“Just because he loves you, that doesn’t mean he’s good for you,” she says with finality.

I purse my lips, considering that for a moment. “What is good for me then, Mom? You know best, right? A real stand-up guy that’s a lawyer or doctor?”

“Don’t be obtuse,” she snips. “How about someone like a police officer, who only carries a gun because they’re—”

“Protecting people,” I cut in. “Because you think they’re protecting people. You really want to get in that debate right now? And wouldn’t you say Zade is doing the same? By rescuing innocent people from being kidnapped and enslaved?”

She tightens her lips, clearly still in disagreement but not willing to keep arguing. That’s a first, but I don’t expect it to last.

This time, I’m the one sighing. I throw myself back in the chair.

“I don’t want to fight about him with you because it’s not going to change anything. I know him better than you ever will, and if you want to hate him, fine. But do it where I don’t have to hear about it,” I say tiredly and resolutely.

I’m too exhausted to keep fighting with her. That's all we ever do, and it got old over a decade ago.

“Fine,” she huffs, irritated and contrite. “Let me take you to a nice dinner for your birthday, at least. Can we do that? No talk about your boyfriend.”

I stare at her, and the tightness in my chest eases a little. Smiling, I nod my head.

“That sounds good. Let me get ready.”

I stand and head towards the stairs when she calls out, “Don’t forget the concealer, honey. You need it.”

Chapter 27

The Diamond

The sound of Francesca’s heels rebound against the ceiling, sending my heart flying into my throat. Daya glances upward, unsettled by the sound but used to Parsons Manor’s shenanigans.

I, on the other hand, am having a silent heart attack. I’ve been hearing those sharp footsteps since I’ve been home, and though they’re not actually Francesca’s, I think the wicked ghosts in this house know they haunt my nightmares and enjoy bringing them to life.

I curl my hands into tight fists to abate the shaking, racking my brain for something to distract me.

“Maybe I should just become a nun,” I announce, causing Daya to pause mid-pour. She’s filling up a glass of red wine, and it feels… weird. Like I shouldn’t be standing here enjoying wine when I’ve murdered people and escaped sex trafficking.

We’re sitting at my kitchen island, and I can’t help but bask in the nostalgia. I was gone for two and a half months, but it feels like years. It’s weird, but it feels good, too. To be here with her again, drinking like no time has passed at all.

Daya blinks at me, thrown off from my declaration, and slides the glass over to me. “I love you, but you wouldn’t even last a day.”

“Rude,” I mutter, taking a sip of the wine. I cringe, the bitter taste invading my taste buds. I like my wine sweet, but it’s what Daya had in her fridge.

“You want to become a nun because you can’t tolerate touch in general, or touch from a man?”

I pick at a hangnail. “Men, which is proving very difficult with training. He has to touch me, and every time he does, I fucking panic, then waffle between freezing up and going ballistic.”

After Zade and I agreed to take down the Society together a month ago, I felt something shift inside my chest. A purpose was born, and it serves to get me out of bed every morning and train.

But it’s not a magical fix-all. I look at Zade, and I feel everything I felt after giving in to him. The magnetism, the connection, and the love. He’s given me the space I so desperately need, even though I can see that it’s killing him inside. While I feel guilty every time I pull away, I also feel relief.

But now I feel other things—things that I know have nothing to do with him, but with sex. The thought of it makes me want to vomit, and there’s this fear ingrained in me that every time Zade shows me any affection, that’s what it’s going to lead to.