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So I add, “And now, when I look at these scars, I won’t remember the pain. I’ll remember the way your lips feel on my skin. So thank you—for turning something painful into something sweet.”

Her eyes soften, her lips parting slightly before she catches them between her teeth. Slowly she wraps her arms around my waist, her fingers lacing together against my stomach.

“You mean it?” she murmurs.

I nod. “I do.”

Turning to face her, I brush a stray strand of hair from her face, my fingers trailing gently down her cheek before I cup her jaw. My thumb strokes her skin, savoring her warmth.

She blinks up at me, then shakes her head with a soft laugh. “These days, it feels like you always know exactly what to say.”

“It’s the truth,” I reply. I never knew I was capable of saying—or feeling—things like this. But since I met Aria, I’ve been discovering parts of myself I never thought existed.

Her arms stay wrapped around me, holding me together like no one ever has. It’s as if she thinks I’m fragile—fragile, of all things. The last word anyone would ever use to describe me.

But maybe, I guess that’s just what love does.

She loves me, right?

I lean down, pressing my lips to hers—slow, deep, unrushed. As always, she melts into me like ice against fire. Her fingers grip my shoulders, careful of my injury, while I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her as close as I can. Her grip tightens, as if she can keep me from ever leaving her again.

And maybe… maybe I want to be held like that.

I let her cling to me for as long as she needs before finally pulling back.

I brush a strand of hair from her face again—because I can’t stop touching her. Because I don’t want to. And because of what I’m about to say next.

“I have a meeting with your brother.” My voice is even, controlled. “I plan to decide his fate for what he did.”

She inhales sharply, her lashes fluttering, but she doesn’t step back. “I want to come.”

I tilt my head. “You’re sure?”

She swallows, nodding once. “He’s still my brother. I need to be there.”

I button my shirt, and she steps back to grab my jacket. My arm twinges, a sharp reminder of the wound that hasn’t fully healed, but I push the pain aside.

I wait as she freshens up and changes to a skirt and a flowing chiffon top. Then, without another word, we leave together.

At the car, I open the passenger door for her. She slips in, adjusting her skirt as I settle into the driver’s seat. The engine rumbles to life, and I pull onto the long driveway. Trees line the path, their branches swaying gently in the breeze.

With every turn of the wheel, my shoulder tightens, the dull ache spreading—but I keep going.

Aria stares out the window, her fingers twisting in her lap. I keep one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against my thigh. The sun casts a golden glow over the city, washing the buildings in warmth—an odd contrast to the cold weight settling in my chest.

She glances at me. “You’re quiet.”

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “I’m thinking. There’s something you should know.”

Her brow furrows. “Is it about Marco?”

I shake my head. “It’s about Elena.”

She stiffens, her hands clasping tighter. I see her brace herself. “Did something happen to her? She hasn’t been answering any of my calls or replying to my messages.”

For a second, I consider keeping quiet—letting her hold on to this moment of peace before facing her brother. But I remember my promise—no more secrets.

I exhale slowly. “She was part of the attack, Aria. She led it. She meant to hurt you.”