Page 124 of Desperate Crimes

“That man loves you. He looks at you like I’ve never seen him look at anyone else. Not in all his life.”

Her words hit me like a blow.

Because I want to believe them.

I want to believe in him.

But right now, all I feel is the weight in my chest. A dull, thunderous ache I can’t shake.

“Thank you, Mrs. Fury,” I manage, voice tight. “I appreciate that.”

I step back.

“I just think I need some space,” I whisper. “I need to breathe.”

They nod. Quietly.

No judgment. Just sadness.

And love.

But I still walk away.

Down another hallway, out toward an empty section of the huge wraparound patio, where the night is just starting to fall.

Where I can be alone with my doubts, my foolish heart, and the sick fear that maybe I was never his the way he said.

Maybe he was never really my Hades. And maybe I’m not his Persephone.

Just a pawn on someone else’s board.