Page 144 of Modern Romance December 2025 1-4

And maybe she does. I’ve long since lost the privilege of having scruples or lines in the sand, and so one woman’s request to stop chasing the revenge that has driven the last ten years of my life shouldn’t have given me pause. Yet it did. And looking into her dark eyes I knew she was right. I wouldn’t take what she wasn’t willing to give, not without the promise she wanted, a promise she’d already given me. But still, I wanted her and in that moment I wanted her more than I wanted to take Ulysses Zakynthos down.

So I’d given her my promise, telling myself that I didn’t mean it. That it was a lie, because after all I’d lied before and without any regrets whatsoever.

You meant it then and you mean it now.

Her hair slides like black silk through my fingers and I shove that thought away. What I will do is make sure of her promise to me before I take any action against Ulysses. I’ll marry her, secure my heir and look at my options then.

‘So,’ I say into the heavy silence. ‘Are you going to tell me what you meant?’

She shifts on me, hot silky skin sliding against mine, and my cock stirs, ready for another round. But I won’t be distracted again so I ignore it. She said she’d been through ‘things you can’t imagine’ and, since my imagination is excellent, I want to know exactly what she meant by that. It can’t be anything bad, not when she’s been sheltered all her life in her brother’s villa on the Greek Riviera.

‘About what?’ She’s sprawled over my chest, her fingers drawing little circles on my skin, her body warm and soft against mine.

‘You said you’d “been through things”.’

‘Oh, that.’ Her attention is on my chest, her fingertips tracing the scars from a knife fight I got into years ago. ‘Seems like you’ve been through some things too.’

‘A knife,’ I say dismissively. ‘I’m going to be your husband, dragonfly. Which means I need to know everything there is to know about my prospective wife.’

She glances up at me. ‘Do you though? Do you really?’

‘Olympia,’ I say with a hint of impatience. ‘You made me a promise.’

‘To be your wife. Nothing else.’

Her eyes are full of challenge and I can sense the barrier behind them. A blank brick wall to keep people out.

Yes, they were bad things.

Something in my chest constricts. Her reluctance to tell me says it all, and suddenly I very much want to know what happened to her and make sure that if someone hurt her, I would hunt them to the ends of the earth to make them pay.

‘Did your brother—?’

‘No,’ she says sharply, cutting me off. ‘I told you, Ulysses would never hurt me.’

‘Then who? Someone hurt you, didn’t they?’ Letting her hair go, I reach out and touch her cheek gently. ‘Tell me, dragonfly.’

Much to my surprise and probably to hers too, her eyes fill with tears. She pushes herself away from me, making as if to leave, but I’m not letting her walk away again, especially not with those tears, so I reach for her, pulling her back into my arms and leaning against the headboard with her.

I don’t want to press, because clearly this is painful, but also I want to know. I want her to trust me enough to tell me, even though I don’t precisely know why I want that.

She’s stiff in my arms, resisting, but I don’t let go. ‘If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay,’ I say in a gentler tone. ‘I won’t make you tell me. But I don’t like to see you cry.’

She’s silent, her head tucked under my chin, her cheek pressed to my chest. The stiffness in her body slowly ebbs until it’s gone and I feel the dampness of a tear on my skin.

The constriction in my chest tightens still further.

‘It’s all right,’ I murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her silky head. ‘You can keep your secrets, dragonfly. I won’t force you.’

She takes a shaky breath and then says, her voice slightly muffled, ‘It’s been a long time since it happened. Years.’

I don’t say anything, leaving her space to talk if she wants to, but I keep my arms tight around her, letting her know she’s safe.

‘My mother died when Ulysses and I were very young. We had no relatives so we had to go into foster care. Ulysses tried to make sure we stayed together, but we were split up in the end. My foster parents were…not kind.’ Her voice is slightly hesitant, but there is a certain strength to it. ‘They took me in because they wanted the money the state paid them to look after me, not actually me. My foster father used to drink a lot and he was a monster when he was drunk. He would beat me for no reason, just for the pleasure of it, I think. My foster mother would tie me up at night and lock me in a closet because she didn’t want me “wandering around” at night.’

Nothing gets to me these days. I’ve seen and heard things that would scar the hardest of men, but the words Olympia says, in a clear, calm voice, chill me to the bone. Then, a second later, rage wells up inside me. My muscles tense and clearly she can feel it, because she suddenly shifts in my arms, pulling her head away so she can look up at me. Her cheeks are wet with her tears, but there’s no fear in them, only a calm strength that takes my breath away. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Don’t be angry.’

‘I’m not angry at you,’ I force out, my fingers already curling into fists, wanting to hit something.