Page 118 of Cursed

Sadie steps up beside me and I feel her hand slide into mine, her warmth anchoring me as she steps closer.

“Is that why you carve your initials into things that matter to you?” she asks. “To claim them before the curse can take them away?”

No one has ever connected these pieces of me before—not my brothers, not the therapists Xavier forced me to see. Yet Sadie, with her systematic mind, has mapped the terrain of my brokenpsyche and found the pattern I’ve never acknowledged even to myself.

I can only manage a slight nod, words failing me as I grip her hand and turn to face her.

“You’re not cursed, Landon,” Sadie says, her voice steady with conviction. “You were a child. None of it was your fault.”

She takes my hand and places it over her heart, right where my initials are permanently etched into her skin. I feel her heartbeat beneath my palm, steady and strong.

“And this?” she continues. “This means I choose your curse. I choose you.”

A dam breaks inside me—one I’ve spent decades reinforcing, now crumbling under the weight of her simple truth. I cup her face with hands I can’t keep from trembling, my thumbs brushing her cheekbones.

“The moment I caught you, little butterfly, we were both cursed.” I swallow hard. “I’ve never said those words to anyone,” I admit, my voice rough. “I never thought I was capable of feeling this.”

I take a deep breath, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat.

“I love you, Sadie. You’re the only thing I’ve ever loved.”

The admission tears through me like a blade, tearing open a part of me that’s been sealed shut so long I’d forgotten it existed. Physical pain would be easier to bear than this vulnerability.

“All my life, love has meant vulnerability,” I explain. “And vulnerability meant weakness. It meant giving someone the power to destroy you.”

Her eyes never leave mine, patient and understanding in ways I don’t deserve.

“But with you,” I whisper, the realization dawning as I speak it, “it feels like strength.”

I pull Sadie toward me, lowering my mouth to hers. The softness of her lips against mine feels like surrender, but not hers—mine.

My fingers thread through her hair, cradling her head as I deepen the kiss. When she sighs against my mouth, the sound travels through me like electricity.

I take her hand and lead her to the bedroom, my thumb tracing circles on her wrist where her pulse beats steadily. The lights from the city cast shadows across her face as she looks up at me, her eyes reflecting a look I never thought I’d see directed at me—trust.

Our bodies come together with familiar hunger but unfamiliar tenderness. I’ve always approached sex as conquest—pleasure extracted rather than shared. Tonight feels different.

Her body arches beneath mine, her fingers digging into my shoulders. Even in this vulnerable moment, we remain who we are—darkness calling to darkness. My teeth find her neck, her shoulder, but my bite is gentler than before. Her cry when she comes apart isn’t one of surrender but of mutual destruction. We shatter together, the intensity both familiar and entirely new.

After, she lies beside me, her breathing slowing as I trace the raised outline of my initials on her skin. The scar I carved into her, once a mark of ownership, now feels like a symbol of our twisted journey.

“Stay with me,” I say, my voice low in the darkness. “Not because of the contract. Not because I own you. Because we choose each other.”

Sadie’s fingers intertwine with mine over the scar. “I choose you,” she whispers. “All of you. Every broken, twisted piece.”

She shifts to face me, pressing her lips to the corner of my mouth. “And you choose me. Not as property, but as your equal.”

I nod, sealing our pact with another kiss. We remain what we are—dark, obsessive, dangerous—but now without pretense. Without lies. We choose this madness together.

48

EPILOGUE

LANDON

I’ve waited three months to find him. Three months of meticulous planning while Sadie slept beside me, unaware of my mission. Thomas Mercer thought he’d escaped consequences all those years ago, but monsters recognize other monsters. And unlike him, I never hide what I am.

The warehouse I’ve chosen is soundproofed. Industrial. Anonymous. Perfect for what comes next.