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Chapter Twenty-Three

M aya

Fatigue pulled me under into sleep, but it didn’t last long. I wake with a start, guilt gnawing at my conscience like a hungry wolf. The quiet darkness of my bedroom offers no peace, only space for regret to grow. Beside me, Damian’s steady breathing should be comforting, but it just reminds me of how deeply I’ve betrayed his trust.

He handled the truth about his displacement in time with incredible dignity, just like he handles everything. That makes it worse somehow. Even learning he’d lost his entire world, everyone he’d ever known but the crew on the Fortuna , he still remained composed. Philosophical. Honorable.

While I’ve been nothing but a liar since the day we met.

I watch him in the dim light filtering through my window. The strong line of his jaw, softened slightly in sleep. The furrow between his brows that speaks of dreams I can only imagine. His lips moving silently, perhaps speaking to ghosts from two thousand years ago.

My chest aches with a feeling I’m not ready to name. It’s not just attraction anymore, though that’s certainly part of it. It’s the way he maintains his dignity despite impossible circumstances. The gentleness he shows to others even while believing himself enslaved. The wisdom that makes him seem brilliant and noble despite his circumstances.

My hand hovers over his shoulder, wanting to wake him, to try explaining everything I feel. To make him understand that the lies weren’t meant to hurt him, that somehow in protecting him I’ve grown to…

But he deserves better than midnight confessions born of guilt. Deserves better than a woman who helped perpetuate the myth of his enslavement. Deserves better than me .

His breathing changes slightly—he’s awake and aware of my scrutiny. Of course he is. Years of gladiator training probably made him alert to the slightest change in his environment. Still, he waits, giving me the choice to either retreat or acknowledge this moment between us.

My fingers brush his shoulder, feather-light. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For everything.”

We both grab our translators, then he turns to face me, those compelling eyes now fully alert. His mouth moves as though he’s going to say something, but he pauses, allowing me to speak.

I choose each word with care. I read that a good apology includes owning and accepting responsibility for every action. Now’s as good a time as any.

“I’ve lied to you, hurt you, left you in the dark when you deserved to know the truth. I’ve spent weeks pretending it was all about protecting you. But the truth is, I had other paths—I just chose the easiest one.”

Sighing, I decide I might as well say it all. “I let you believe… I owned you. Perhaps that was the worst of it.” My voice catches. “Let me make it up to you. Let me show you how much I…”

“No.” His voice remains gentle but firm as he catches my hand before it can wander. “Not from guilt. Not from pity.”

“It’s not pity.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “You’re the most honorable man I’ve ever known. The way you maintain your dignity, your principles, even when you thought… The kindness you show others even while believing yourself bound in chains of slavery. Your wisdom, your strength—not just physical, but spiritual. I admire you more than I can say.”

The silence stretches between us, charged with possibility. Then his hand cups my cheek, his thumb ghosting back and forth across my lips.

“Maya,” he breathes, and my name on his lips sounds like a prayer.

When he kisses me, it feels like stepping into sunlight after years in the depths of a cave. His touch is both reverent and hungry, as though he’s been holding himself back with as much difficulty as I have. My fingers tangle in his hair as the kiss deepens, and for a moment, two thousand years of separation vanish like morning mist.

We break apart, breathless, foreheads touching. “You humble me,” he murmurs. “With your fierce protection, your determination to do right even when the path is unclear. Your strength in facing impossible choices.”

“I lied to you.”

“You sheltered me while I learned to understand this age.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “Truth comes in many forms. And sometimes the heart knows what the mind has yet to accept.”

The tenderness in his touch undoes me. This time, when our lips meet, it feels like coming home.