Page 155 of Mystic's Sunrise

I pulled on my jeans, found my shirt on the floor, shoved my arms through the sleeves as quietly as I could. The cut was draped over the back of the chair where I’d left it last night. I stared at it for a beat before slipping it on.

I had a lot of shit to answer for, and I couldn’t ask her to keep carrying my weight until I handled mine.

She stirred just as I was lacing up my boots, her brow furrowed, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Mystic?”

Her voice—raspy, low—sexy, made me want to crawl back into bed with her, but I had to handle shit. Instead, I turned, walked back to the bed, and leaned down, brushing my fingers through her hair. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Her hand slid over mine, holding it in place. “Where are you going?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, leaned down, and kissed her forehead. “To put the final nail in my past.”

She blinked, slowly. “Chelsea.”

I nodded and sighed heavily, “She’s never signed the papers, but today she will. I’ll fuckin’ make sure of it.”

She just looked at me, soft, quiet, understanding in those dark eyes that had seen more pain than they ever should have.

“I’ll be back,” I said, kissing her lips. “And when I am… we’re going to talk. Everything. No more walls. No more secrets.”

Her hand tightened around mine. “Okay.”

I held her gaze for another second, just long enough to make sure she believed me. Just long enough to believe it myself.

Then I stood.

Because this wasn’t just about ending a marriage.

It was aboutprovingsomething—to her, to me, to the man I’d buried under guilt and fear and silence.

It was time.

Time to cut the last string Chelsea had wrapped around my throat.

So I could finally be free.

Sowecould finally start again.

***

I SHOULDN’T HAVEcome here alone.

I knew how this was going to go, knew Chelsea wouldn’t just sign the fucking papers and let me walk away.

But I had to do this. I had to end it.

Because after last night—after finally holding Zeynep, after hearing her whisper that she wasn’t leaving—there was no fucking way I was letting my past keep me from her any longer.

So I walked into what had becomeherhouse for the last time, and just like every time before, I regretted it the second I crossed the threshold.

She was lounging on the couch, a glass of red in hand, legs tucked under her like she hadn’t spent the last few weeks doing everything in her power to fuck with my life.

She barely looked at me. Just smirked. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Kain?”

I didn’t bite. I set the papers down on the coffee table, my voice flat, cold. “Sign them.”

Her smirk widened. Like she’d been expecting this. Like she’d been waiting for it. She let out a soft hum, tapping hernails against the glass. “Even came in person. You’re really that desperate to play house with your little refugee?”

My fists clenched at my sides. “Sign the fucking papers, Chelsea.”