Page 34 of Before Broken Vows

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you need to handle this first before you can handle anything else. If you're going to give her a room in our house, don't pretend she isn't already back inside your head."

I stare at the wall.

"You think I should cut her loose? Tell her to leave? That I'm just too fucking busy in my life? For the family, Ares, I'll do it."

"Brother. Even if you did, and I don't doubt it, it wouldn't be truthful. Other women? Sure. But her? Not a chance."

"What then?"

Ares pauses for another long moment. "First, I think Dimitri should come. I think you need a second set of eyes with you."

"Ares, I don’t need —"

"You need help and that's what family is for. Nothing wrong with that. Besides, he's been bugging me every day about it. And second, I think if you don't talk to her tonight, you're just going to keep waking up regretting it. And not because of her secrets or whatever she's been doing the past four years, but because sinceyou've let her in, you want her back, even if you don't want to admit it."

I lean back in my chair, not speaking.

"Theo, you can't move on. You can't think clearly without speaking to her. Knowing. If it were me, I'd go right now, so I could process it, and get back to finding Dad's killer."

"Fuck. You're right. I'm going to go demand what I need," I say, standing. "And brother. Please keep this between us. Calli and Dimitri can hear it from me."

"Just handle it."

I hang up without another word and make my way across the house to Stassi's room.

12

STASSI

The mansion is too quiet.

Not the comforting kind of quiet, but the kind that hums against your skin, reminding you that you're not supposed to be here. That you slipped into the past like it still belonged to you.

It always gets like this at night, once Elena leaves. I stopped wandering around because I have to fight myself not to remember what it was like to live here, when the sound of Theo's voice filled the space between the marble floors and the vaulted ceilings.

Now it feels like a museum of a life I once touched but never deserved to keep. So I just stare at the damn ceiling or my phone, and I'm tired of doing both. I've showered, I've paced, I've even tried watching TV, but nothing works.

All I can hear is his voice, both of them. One from our former times here, and now his current, more harsh one.

I bury my face in my knees. I want to scream. I want to cry. But the part of me that learned how to survive doesn't allow either. She just repeats: stay in control. Don't break.

I've spent the last few nights drafting messages and deleting them. Trying to find the words that will make this right. Trying to imagine a world where Theo hears the truth and doesn't hate me. Where he holds me instead of looking at me like I'm the reason everything hurts.

Because maybe I am.

A sharp inhale escapes me, and I lean back against the headboard. I close my eyes, trying to block out the memories, but they creep in like shadows slipping through cracks in the wall.

A small part of me wishes I could have let him be. Let him move on. Maybe then he wouldn't be looking at me like that, wouldn't be tearing himself apart from the inside. Wouldn't be trying to decide whether I'm a ghost or a bomb about to go off.

I shake my head and stand.

I can't sit here anymore. I need to move. To breathe.

I leave the bedroom and walk down the hall.

Theo's probably somewhere in this house. Maybe in his office. Maybe asleep, which seems unlikely. He never used to sleep much—not when things were tense.