Page 48 of Scarred in Silence (The Twisted Trilogy #2)

Lucien

She’s twenty feet ahead of me and not slowing down.

“You know,” I call up the trail, panting louder than I’d like to admit, “for someone who nearly died six times this year, you have a concerning amount of energy.”

Astra glances over her shoulder, grinning like she knows exactly how feral she looks with wind-tangled platinum hair and dirt smudged on her cheek. “Maybe you’re just getting old.”

“I’m twenty-six.”

“Exactly.”

I growl under my breath and pick up the pace. The narrow trail snakes along the edge of the mountain, pine needles crunching beneath our boots, the sky above so painfully blue it feels like a setup.

She’s wearing all black, of course—leggings, tank top, even a windbreaker tied at the waist like a goddamn temptress pretending she’s not leading me to my death.

I catch up to her, grabbing her by the waist and spinning her into me. She laughs, but it’s breathless, pupils blown wide with altitude and adrenaline.

“You really think I’m getting old?” I murmur, brushing my nose against hers.

She smirks. “Prove me wrong.”

I lift her off the ground, toss her over my shoulder like I’m carrying her out of a fire instead of up a mountain. She shrieks—loud and unhinged—and beats her fists against my back, laughing so hard she hiccups.

“You asshole—put me down!”

“Say I’m not old.”

“Never.”

I smack her ass once for good measure, and she squeals, biting down on a laugh.

When I set her back down, she turns and shoves me with both palms. “You’re lucky I like psychos.”

“You say that like I didn’t stalk you through five states,” I shoot back sarcastically.

She flips me off and keeps walking, the bounce in her step betraying just how much she’s enjoying this.

We keep climbing. No destination. No mission. Just space and silence and the slow, unspoken promise that we’ll never let anyone chain us again.

The trees thin as we crest a ridge, and then we’re standing on a granite outcrop that overlooks the entire valley. Wind cuts through our clothes, but we don’t move. She’s quiet now—hands on hips, chest rising and falling.

“I used to dream of this,” she says finally.

“The view?”

“No. Just… being able to breathe.”

I watch her profile—sharp jawline, bruised lips, lashes catching the sun. “You are.”

“I know.”

A beat of silence stretches between us, easy and wide. Then she turns to face me.

* * *

She’s winded, spun out in the clouds and sunlight—but I can’t keep pretending I’m fine.

Not with the ring in my pocket burning a hole through my soul.

She walks over to the ledge, looking out at the valley like it belongs to her. Like it knows her scars and still wants her. God, I know that feeling.

“Astra.”

She doesn’t hear me at first—too caught in her own head, or maybe the quiet. But when I say her name again, her shoulders stiffen, and she turns to face me.

Something in my expression makes her pause.

“You okay?”

I nod. Then shake my head. “No.”

I step forward.

“I’ve killed men in cold blood without blinking. I’ve built empires and burned down legacies. But I’ve never—” My throat constricts. “I’ve never been this terrified.”

Her brows pull together. “Lucien…”

“I thought I ruined you,” I say. “I dragged you into Hell and kept you there, telling myself I was saving you when all I was doing was keeping you close enough to breathe you in. You were my fucking lifeline, Astra. And I was your prison.”

He r eyes gloss over, shimmering like the frost lining the pine trees.

“You weren’t my prison,” she whispers.

“I was your sentence.”

She doesn’t argue. She just steps closer, wraps her arms around herself.

“I made you bleed just to know you were loyal,” I continue. “I punished you for surviving the only way you knew how. I made you crawl through glass for love.”

She swallows hard.

“I don’t want that for you anymore.” I reach into the pocket of my shorts and pull out the box. Her eyes go wide, breath catching like she’s been shot.

“You deserve something real. Something soft. Something that doesn’t hurt to hold onto.”

I drop to my knees. The ground is damp. My pride crumbles.

“This is the part where I’m supposed to ask if you’ll marry me, but I need you to know something first.”

She’s not breathing.

“You don’t owe me a yes. I will love you even if you don’t want forever. I will follow you, ruin for you, bleed for you. Even if this is all I ever get. I should never have forced this marriage.”

Tears break free down her cheeks. I’ve never seen her cry like this. Not when she came back. Not when she found out what I did. Not even when we buried the last of her nightmares.

“I don’t want you to marry me because you’re loyal,” I whisper. “I want you to marry me because you love me.”

She sinks to her knees in front of me, hands trembling. “I do lov e you.”

The box opens between us. A ring as sharp and cold as everything we survived, resting on a silver bullet. A pure diamond. Our sins, forged into something beautiful.

“I want to give you a wedding, Astra. I want you in white, walking toward me like the world never got its claws in you.”

A sob catches in her throat.

“I want to be your husband—not your warden.”

She throws herself into my arms, burying her face in my neck, shaking from the inside out. Her yes comes out as a whisper, then a cry, then a broken, frantic kiss that tastes like absolution.

“Yes,” she says again. “God, yes.”

And somewhere between the mountain and the sky, we fall apart in each other’s arms—finally free.

Finally home.