Page 72 of Beneath Scarred Vows

He doesn't answer, but his eyes never leave mine.

"I thought about how I couldn't save my family. How I failed them. And I was terrified it would happen again with Calli." I swallow hard. "So I know exactly what I'm talking about, Ares. I know what it feels like to be consumed by the fear of failing the people you love."

Something shifts in his eyes—a recognition, maybe even a surrender.

"I couldn't save him either," he says so quietly I almost miss it. "My father. I should have been there and I don't know how to let it go."

"I know," I tell him, and I do. I understand the weight of that guilt better than most.

I hug him tightly.

He kisses the top of my head. "If something happened to you…"

"Nothing's going to happen to me," I say firmly. "Or Calli. Or your brothers. Because you'll take care of it—we'll take care of it. You say we're a family. Well, family looks out for one another—it's not one person doing all the work."

His shoulders slump slightly, the first sign of exhaustion breaking through his armor. "But?—"

"No." I squeeze him tighter. "No more 'what ifs.' Not tonight." I release him and start walking toward the door, holding his hand tightly. "Tonight, you need to rest."

For a long moment, I think he'll refuse. But then something changes in his expression—a softening around his eyes.

"Fine," he says, the word coming out gruff. "But just for a few hours."

I lead him from the office, up the stairs, back to our bedroom. He moves like a man in a trance, letting me guide him. When we reach the bed, he sits on the edge, looking lost in a way that makes my chest ache.

"Take off your shoes," I tell him, and he does.

I help him out of his shirt, my fingers brushing against his skin. Even in his exhausted state, I feel him respond to my touch, his muscles tensing, then relaxing. I push him gently back onto the bed, and he goes willingly.

"I can't sleep," he says, staring up at the ceiling. "Every time I close my eyes, I see?—"

"I know," I say, lying down beside him, curling my body against his. "I know what you see."

He closes his eyes and I feel his body giving into his exhaustion, the burden he's been carrying since his father's death. Since my arrival. Since the attack.

His arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest.

"I can't lose you," he whispers. "Not when I've just found you."

The words stir something deep inside me, a warmth only he's been able to ignite in me.

"You won't lose me," I promise him. "I'm right here."

His grip tightens, almost painfully, then gradually relaxes. Within minutes, he's asleep, his body heavy against mine.

I stare at the ceiling, listening to his breathing, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my ribs.

I think about the cracks I've seen in him tonight—the fears that drive him, the guilt that haunts him. I recognize them because they're mine too. The fear of failing those we love. The guilt of surviving when others didn't. The desperate need for control in a world that offers none.

We're more alike than I ever wanted to admit. Both scarred by our own fire, both trying to build something from the ashes.

I gently kiss his chest, feeling a strange protectiveness wash over me. In this moment, I'm not just his wife by arrangement or his partner in survival. I am the guardian of his rest, the keeper of his vulnerability. It's a role I never expected to take, especially with a man like Ares Kastaris, but one only I can fulfill.

But as I hold him close, I realize that perhaps this is what real strength looks like—not the ability to destroy, but the courage to be broken and still hold someone else together.

And as I feel him sink deeper into slumber, I make a silent promise: I will not let his obsession consume him like my own once did me.

Even if that means that one day soon, I'll have to be the one who walks through his fire to bring him back.