Page 40 of Before Broken Vows

She wants my protection? Fine. I'll give it to her. But that's all she gets. Nothing else. Nothing more.

No more kitchen encounters. No more dinners. No more tracing scars on her skin. No more letting her crawl back into my head, my heart.

I've been a fucking idiot for thinking, even for a moment, that she cared. That she ever cared.

Women like Stassi don't care. They take what they need and they leave.

And I let her.

I clench my jaw and straighten my shoulders. I don't chase. I don't beg. I don't break.

Not for her.

Not for anyone.

Tomorrow, I'll tell her she has three days. Three days to tell me what kind of trouble she's in, who's after her, and what she needs from me. Then she can go back to her life, her home, her lover—whoever the fuck that is—and leave me the hell alone.

And this time, I won't watch the door for her return.

This time, I'll finally accept what I've always known to be true: I'm not meant for love. I'm meant for duty. For family. For power.

Everything else is just a distraction. A weakness.

And I am not weak.

Not anymore. Not even for her.

14

STASSI

Isit up, pushing tangled hair from my eyes. I'm groggy and restless from another night of tossing and turning.

The dreams came again last night, fragments of what was, what is. Despite these last few years of training myself to wake at the slightest sound, I still can't escape the dreams that chase me.

I look around. Still in the Kastaris estate. Still trying to figure out how to proceed. Still longing for him.

I stand and stretch, grabbing the robe Elena brought in yesterday. I run my hands over the fabric. It feels new, still carrying the stiffness of something unworn. I wonder if Theo bought it for someone else. The thought twists in my stomach like a knife.

I slip it on and head toward the bathroom, brushing my teeth and rinsing my mouth as if it might wash out everything I want to say but can't. When I step into the hall, I hear movement from the kitchen.

Maybe Theo's already up.

A flicker of hope pushes me forward.

When I reach the kitchen, I find Elena at the island. She doesn't look up right away, just finishes wiping down the granite counter.

"Good morning," I say, trying to sound neutral. Not fragile. Not desperate.

She doesn't answer.

My eyes land on a cream-colored envelope resting at the center of the island.

"That's for you," she says, nodding toward it, still not looking at me.

Something's changed.

She's been reserved but polite since I arrived. Professional. Today, there's ice in her voice.