Page 9 of All The Darkest Truths (Second Sons Duet #2)

VESPER

I jolt awake, sweat-slicked and gasping, the phantom scent of copper and gunpowder clinging to my nostrils. My hands clutch at empty sheets beside me, and for one disorienting moment, I panic before remembering—I asked for this. I demanded space.

I'd ordered them to leave me alone. To allow me to think, and process killing my uncle, the photos, and finding out The Collector is medically raping my brother. Just as he had done to me. Since I put that bullet through Mario's skull, Z has been suffocating me with his protection.

But now, in the darkness of my empty bedroom, I almost wish he'd ignored me.

I pull my knees to my chest, trying to shake the images from my nightmare—Luca strapped to a medical table, The Collector's wielding instruments that make him scream. And then the memory that wasn’t a dream at all.

Mario’s face twisting in shock as I pulled the trigger, his body crumpling like a marionette with cut strings.

“Fuck,” I groan, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes.

A soft creak from the corner of the room makes me freeze mid-breath. I’m not alone. My head snaps up, scanning the shadows—and that’s when I see him.

Zaire sits motionless in a chair by the door to my room.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss, but there's no real heat behind my words.

He looks terrible. His usually immaculate appearance is gone, replaced by a disheveled ghost of himself. His dark hair is a mess, and the shadows ringing his under eyes suggest he hasn’t slept at all. He’s still wearing the same clothes from the night before.

“Couldn't stay away, moya koroleva.” His voice is rough, scratchy. “Not when I know what haunts your dreams.”

I should throw something at him. Should scream at him to get out. Should remind him that I specifically told him to leave me alone. Instead, I clutch the sheets tighter, swallowing hard against the lump forming in my throat.

“You couldn’t give me one day?”

The silence stretches between us, filled only by the sound of our breathing. Zaire stands there, hollow and worn, but his lips stay firmly shut.

“Seriously?” I push the covers away, suddenly too hot, too confined. “All I asked for was one day to process the shit show that is my life, and you couldn't even do that.”

He finally moves then, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his fingers tremble. “I tried, Vesper. Then I heard you screaming.”

Something in my chest constricts painfully. I hadn't realized I'd been screaming aloud.

“So, what, you've just been sitting there watching me sleep?” I push myself up against the headboard.

“Watching over you,” he corrects, his voice soft but unapologetic. "There's a difference.”

I want to be angry—I should be angry—but the raw honesty etched into his features makes it impossible. The fight drains out of me like water through cupped hands.

“Z…” I trail off, not even sure what I want to say.

He stands slowly, like any sudden movement might shatter the fragile air between us. “I'll go if you want. But I need you to know something first.” He takes a step closer, then stops, respecting the invisible boundary I've drawn. “What happened with Mario, with Luca—none of it falls on you alone.”

“I pulled the trigger,” I remind him, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

“And I would have done the same.” His jaw tightens, voice steady. “Mario deserved worse than a quick death.”

The mattress dips as Zaire sits on the edge of my bed, still maintaining distance, but close enough that I can smell his familiar scent—sandalwood and gunmetal. He reaches out, his hand hovering in the space between us, waiting for permission.

Against my better judgment, I place my hand in his. His fingers immediately curl around mine, warm and solid.

“Why me, Vesper?” Zaire's voice cracks slightly, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “You've let the others close. Oscar, Talon—even Alex. But you're pushing me away. Specifically, me.”

“Because your guilt is eating you alive, Z. I see it every time you look at me. You think you failed because you weren't the one to put a bullet in Mario.”

His fingers tighten around mine, but he doesn't deny it.

“And now you're treating me like I'm made of glass.” The words tumble out faster now, sharper. “Like I'll shatter if you turn your back for even a second. I hate it. I'm not some fragile doll that needs to be protected and coddled.”

“That's not?—”

“It is,” I cut him off. “You hover. You watch. You barely sleep because you’re too busy making sure I’m still breathing. And the worst part?” I pull my hand from his, the loss of his warmth instant and jarring. “The worst part is you’re not looking at me—you’re looking at someone broken. A victim.”

Zaire's jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. “That's not true.”

“No? Then why can’t I sleep alone? Why are you fighting with the guys? You were ready to take off Alex’s head because I asked him to stay with me about the photos.”

Zaire's expression darkens at the mention of Alex. “That was different,” he snaps, his accent thickening with emotion. “He had no right to even tell you about?—”

“To show me what they did to my body? I know what they did. I lived through it. For two years.” I push back the tangled sheets further, sitting up straighter. “This is exactly what I'm talking about, Z. You can't keep doing this.”

“You don't understand what it's like,” he starts, "to see you in pain and know I could have prevented it.”

“That's your guilt talking, not your heart.” The words come out softer than I intended. “And I can't heal with you drowning in it beside me.”

“I can’t lose you again," he finally admits. “I saw you clinging to Oz on that floor, shattering all over again for killing that fucking bastard, and I lost it.”

“You're not losing me.” The words hanging between us like fragile glass. “But you're suffocating me. You love control, I know that. In the bedroom, I’m okay with that. In fact, I love it. But, when I am trying to make a decision for myself, you need to let me do it, and you need to respect it.”

Zaire flinches as if I've struck him. His silver eyes swim with an emotion I rarely see—fear.

“I need to breathe, Z. I need to process everything without feeling your guilt pressing down on me, too.”

“Tell me how to fix this, Vesper. Tell me what you need from me.”

The sincerity in his question catches me off guard. I expected resistance, not surrender.

“I need you to trust me.” I reach out to brush my fingers against his stubbled jaw. “Trust that I'm strong enough to face my demons. Trust that asking for space doesn't mean I'm pushing you away forever.”

His hand captures mine, pressing it more firmly against his cheek. “I do trust you. It's everything else I don't trust.”

“The world isn't going to collapse if you let go for a little while.”

“So long as you are in my world, I will never be able to let go, moya koroleva. If you leave it before me, I will burn it down and go with you.”

I inhale sharply at his words. The Russian endearment—my queen—both warms and frustrates me.

“That's exactly what I'm talking about. You can't keep?—”

“I know.” He cuts me off, surprising me.

“I know what I'm doing, Vesper. I just don't know how to stop. My brain knows you're strong—fuck, you're the strongest person I've ever met —but my heart...it’s another story.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’ve never loved someone as much as I love you, Vesper. I want to protect you from the world so that I know every day when I wake up, you’re still here. Still safe.”

I swallow hard, his confession hanging in the air between us. How do I respond to that level of devotion when it's both everything I want but not something that I can handle right now?

“We need to find a middle ground. Because I can't live in a gilded cage, Z. Not even one built by you.”

He nods slowly, his thumb tracing circles on my wrist where he still holds my hand against his face. “What does that middle ground look like to you?”

It's a fair question, and one I haven't fully considered. What do I want? Space, yes, but not emptiness. Freedom, but not abandonment.

“I need you to let me breathe,” I start, choosing each word with care.

“I need you to be okay if I make a choice you don’t agree with.

And I need you to stop snapping at the others just because I asked them to stay close.

” I pause, meeting his guarded expression.

“It’s not just you and me, Z. Oscar, Talon, and Alex—they’re part of this, too.

Each of you is in my life in a different way, and I need all of you. ”

I take a breath, the next part heavier. “I know you respect what I have with Oscar—your brother. But I need you to extend that respect to the others, too. I can’t keep holding us all together if you won’t even try.”

I hesitate, then push forward. “And I need you to work through your guilt...separately from me.”

Zaire's eyebrows lift slightly at the last suggestion, but he doesn't dismiss it outright, which feels like progress.

“And what about you?”

The question catches me off guard. “What?”

“Relationships go both ways, moya koroleva. If I'm making changes, what are you offering in return?”

I open my mouth to protest, but the words die on my tongue. He's right. As much as his overprotectiveness suffocates me, my walls push him away just as effectively.

“I need to stop shutting you out completely,” I admit, the confession sitting like gravel in my throat. “When things get bad, I retreat. I always have. But I can't expect you to give me space while keeping you completely in the dark.”

Zaire's expression softens, the tension in his jaw easing slightly.

“I'll try to tell you when the nightmares come,” I continue, “instead of pretending I'm fine. And I'll...I'll stop acting like I'm the only one who's hurting. What happened affected you, too.”

His hand slides to the nape of my neck, his touch gentle yet grounding. “It did. But not in the same way.”

“Pain isn't a competition, Z.” I lean into his touch despite myself. “And I need to remember that.”

The silence between us feels different now—less charged, more contemplative. Zaire's thumb traces slow circles at the base of my skull, and I fight the urge to close my eyes and surrender to the comfort of his touch.

“So where does this leave us?” he asks finally.

“Somewhere in the middle, I hope. I can't promise I won't need space sometimes. But I can promise not to use it as a weapon against you."

“And what about Oscar and Talon?” Z's voice changes, something sharper edging into his tone. “Do these same rules apply to them? Or is it just me you're pushing away?”

The question hangs between us, loaded with implications. I study his face, the way his jaw tightens as he mentions the other men in my life.

“This isn't about jealousy, Z,” I say carefully, “But yes, the same boundaries apply to everyone. The difference is…” I trail off, trying to find the right words.

“The difference is they respect those boundaries without question,” he finishes for me, a bitter edge to his voice.

I sigh. “The difference is they don't carry the same guilt you do. They don't look at me like I'm something broken they need to fix.”

Zaire's expression falters, vulnerability flashing across his features.

“Oscar has his own demons,” I continue softly. “And Talon...he processes things differently. Alex is well, Alex. But they don’t try to shield me from my own choices the way you do.”

“And that's what makes me the villain in this story. Because I can't stand by and watch you suffer.”

I reach up, cupping his face between my palms. “You're not a villain, Z, but you can't be my savior either. Not in the way you're trying to be.”

“Then what can I be?”

The raw honesty in his question makes my chest ache. “My partner. Someone who stands beside me, not in front of me.”

“I can try to be that.” Each word is deliberate. “But old habits…”

“Die hard. I know. That's why this is a conversation, not an ultimatum. We both need to adjust.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a ghost of his usual smirk. “You're being remarkably reasonable for someone who was ready to throw something at me ten minutes ago.”

A surprised laugh escapes me, “Don't test me. I still might.”

His smile grows more genuine, a rare sight these days that makes something flutter in my chest. “I wouldn't dare.”

The tension in the room has shifted, no longer crackling with unspoken accusations but something softer, more manageable. I look at Zaire—really look at him—and see beyond the protective enforcer to the exhausted man beneath.

“When was the last time you actually slept?” I ask, noticing the way he sways slightly, fatigue evident in every line of his body.

He shrugs, deflecting. “I'm fine.”

“That's not what I asked.” I exhale slowly. “Lie down with me.”

His eyebrows lift in surprise. “I thought you wanted space.”

“I do. But you need sleep, and I…” I hesitate, then admit the truth. “I don’t want to sleep alone with the nightmares again.”

He hesitates only briefly before toeing off his shoes and stretching his body alongside mine.

The bed dips under his weight, and I find myself instinctively turning toward him like a flower seeking sunlight.

He keeps a careful few inches between us, respecting the invisible boundary we've just negotiated.

“This doesn't solve everything.” I watch as he settles his head on the pillow beside mine.

“No,” he agrees, his voice already softening with the pull of exhaustion. “But it's a start.”