Page 11 of The Beast’s Captive Bride (Obsessed #10)

"You don't know my daughter at all." Richard's voice softens, becoming almost paternal.

"Amber has her mother's heart. She couldn't bear knowing you'd hurt anyone, especially her father.

" His eyes, so like Amber's but colder, sharper, meet mine.

"Kill me, and you lose her forever. Is revenge worth that price? "

The question strikes deeper than he knows, piercing the armor of rage I've worn so long. Is revenge worth losing Amber? The answer should be simple—fifteen years of hatred against a few weeks of unexpected happiness. And yet...

"You don't get to speak about her," I growl, pulling the gun from my holster. "Not after how you treated her. Not after you tried to control every aspect of her life."

"And what are you doing, if not controlling her?" Richard counters, eyeing the gun but keeping his voice steady. "Keeping her isolated, away from friends, family, the life she knew. How are you any different?"

The comparison lands like a physical blow. Am I any better than him? The question claws at me, unwelcome and impossible to ignore.

"I love her," I say, the words strange in my mouth. I've never said them aloud before, barely acknowledged them even to myself. "Everything I've done since she came here has been to protect her."

"Even this?" Richard jerks his head toward the gun in my hand. "Will killing her father protect her?"

Before I can answer, the basement door crashes open.

"Cullen!" Amber's voice pierces the tense silence. "What are you—Daddy?"

My heart plummets as she appears in the doorway, face pale with shock as she takes in the scene—her father bound to a chair, me standing over him with a gun. Her eyes, wide with horror, move between us, settling finally on me with a question I can't bear to see.

"Amber, get out of here," I order, though I know it's useless. My wife has proven herself as stubborn as she is beautiful.

"Amber, honey," Richard's voice transforms instantly, becoming gentle, concerned. "Are you alright? Has he hurt you?"

She ignores him, stepping further into the room, focus entirely on me. "Cullen, what are you doing? Put the gun down."

The command in her voice surprises me. Gone is the shy girl I kidnapped; in her place stands a woman of quiet strength, unafraid even in this grim tableau.

"You don't understand," I tell her, though I don't lower the weapon. "What he did to me?—"

"I know what he did." She moves closer, slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. "You told me. He betrayed you, stole from you, tried to kill you. I believe you."

"Then you know why this has to happen." My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.

"No." She shakes her head firmly. "No, it doesn't have to happen. Nothing has to happen." Another step closer. "Please, Cullen. This isn't you anymore."

"Isn't it?" The question tears from me, raw and desperate. "This is who I've been for fifteen years, Amber. The man planning this moment. The man living for revenge."

"That was before." She's close enough now that I can see the tears swimming in her eyes, threatening to fall. "Before us. Before this." Her hand touches her heart, then reaches toward mine. "Please don't do this. Please don't make me lose you both."

"Amber, get away from him!" Richard shouts, straining against his bonds. "He's dangerous—he's insane?—"

"Be quiet, Daddy," she says without looking at him, her eyes never leaving mine. "This is between my husband and me."

My wife. My salvation. Standing before me with tears on her cheeks and steel in her spine.

"He deserves this," I say, but the words lack conviction. "After what he did?—"

"Maybe he does," she concedes, taking another step. We're almost touching now. "But you don't deserve what it would do to you. To us." Her hand comes up to rest on my chest, directly over my thundering heart. "I love you, Cullen. Please don't make me watch you become the monster you think you are."

Love. The word hits me like a physical blow. She's said it before, in a hundred small ways—in touches and smiles and the way she curls against me at night—but never in words. Never so plainly, so irrefutably.

"You can't love me," I whisper, gun still pointed at her father but my resolve fracturing. "Not after this. Not knowing what I'm capable of."

"I've always known what you're capable of," she says, her voice steady despite the tears on her cheeks. "I've known since the night you took me. You could have hurt me a hundred times, but you didn't. You never would."

"This is different." I gesture with the gun toward her father, who watches our exchange with calculating eyes. "This is fifteen years of hate. This is justice."

"Is it justice?" Her hand slides up to cup my face, thumb stroking my jaw where tension has locked it rigid. "Or is it just more pain? More destruction? When does it end, Cullen?"

My hands are numb, but I feel a warmth in my chest, an uncomfortable heat that I recognize as guilt. Not for what I've done to Richard—never that—but for what I'm doing to Amber. For forcing her to witness this ugly part of me I've tried to shield her from.

"He ruined me," I say, the words scraping my throat raw. "Left me for dead. Stole everything."

"And now you have me." Her eyes hold mine, endless blue depths I could drown in. "Is that not enough? Am I not enough to balance the scales?"

Her question pierces something vital in me, deflating the rage that's sustained me for so long. Is she enough? This woman who walked into my darkness and somehow brought light with her? This impossible creature who saw past the monster to the man beneath?

"Amber, get away from him," Richard interrupts, his voice sharp with fear. "He's dangerous—he's using you?—"

"Shut up." I don't raise my voice, but the cold command silences him instantly. I turn my attention back to Amber, to the tears tracking silently down her cheeks. "You are enough," I tell her, the truth of it settling into my bones. "More than I deserve."

"Then choose me," she pleads, both hands on my face now. "Choose us. Let this go."

"You don't know what you're asking." But I do. She's asking me to surrender the purpose that's defined me for fifteen years. To become something else, someone else.

"I'm asking you to be the man I know you can be." She rises on tiptoe, pressing her forehead to mine. "The man I love. The man who feeds chickens and grows tomatoes and holds me like I'm precious."

A sound escapes me—half laugh, half sob—at her simple, devastating description. Is that who I am now? Can I be that man and still hold onto this hatred?

"Please," she whispers against my lips. "For me. For us."

Behind us, Richard clears his throat. "If I could interject?—"

"You can't," I growl, not looking away from Amber.

She smiles slightly at that, recognizing the first crack in my resolve. Her hands move down to cover mine on the gun, gentle but insistent.

"Let it go," she says again, and I know she means more than just the weapon.

Slowly, finger by finger, I release the gun into her keeping. She sets it carefully on a shelf, then returns to me, winding her arms around my waist and resting her head against my chest. I hold her, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the steady beat of her heart against mine.

"Thank you," she murmurs into my shirt.

Over her head, I meet Richard's gaze. There's confusion there, and fear, but also a dawning realization as he watches his daughter in my arms. He sees what I see—the strength in her, the determination, the capacity for love that somehow extends even to a scarred, broken man like me.

"Untie him," Amber says, still holding me close.

"Amber—"

"Untie him," she repeats, looking up at me with those clear blue eyes. "Let him go. End this."

Every instinct rebels against the idea of releasing my enemy, of letting him walk away unpunished. But the alternative—losing Amber, losing this fragile happiness we've built—is suddenly unthinkable.

I break from her embrace and stride to Richard, pulling out a knife to cut the zip ties. He flinches as the blade comes near, but I'm precise, clinical in my movements.

"You're letting me go?" he asks as the last restraint falls away.

"I'm choosing my wife," I correct him, stepping back. "This isn't forgiveness. This isn't peace between us. This is me deciding that she matters more than my revenge."

He rubs his wrists, watching me warily as he rises from the chair. "And what's to stop me from going to the police? Having you arrested for kidnapping, for assault?"

Before I can respond, Amber steps between us.

"Me," she says simply. "I'll tell them everything, Daddy.

How you controlled me. How you cut me off when I wouldn't obey.

How you left Cullen for dead fifteen years ago.

" She takes my hand, lacing her fingers through mine.

"How I chose to stay here. How I chose him. "

Richard stares at his daughter as if seeing her for the first time. "You can't be serious. He kidnapped you. He's holding you prisoner?—"

"I'm his wife," she interrupts, a steel in her voice I've rarely heard. "And I'm exactly where I want to be."

Something in Richard's expression shifts—recognition, perhaps, that the daughter he thought he knew is gone, replaced by this woman of quiet strength and determination.

"He's dangerous, Amber," he tries again, desperation tingeing his voice. "You can't trust him."

"I trust him with my life." She squeezes my hand. "Which is more than I can say for you."

The words strike home; I see it in the way Richard flinches. For a moment, I almost pity him—losing his daughter not by my hand, but by his own actions.

"You'll regret this," he warns, but the fight is draining from him. "When he shows his true colors?—"

"I know his true colors," Amber interrupts again. "All of them. The dark and the light. I choose them all."

Richard looks between us, defeat finally settling over his features. "And if I refuse to leave you here? If I fight this?"

I step forward, towering over him once more.

"Then we do this the hard way," I say quietly.

"The evidence I've gathered over fifteen years goes public.

The Jakarta deal. The bribery. The offshore accounts.

Everything." I smile, cold and sharp. "I may be choosing mercy today, Richard. Don't mistake it for weakness."

He pales slightly, understanding the threat. Whatever else he might be, Richard Lockhart is a survivor. He knows when to retreat.

"This isn't over," he says, but it sounds hollow even to my ears.

"Yes, it is." Amber's voice is gentle but firm. "Go home, Daddy. Let me live my life."

For a moment, I think he'll argue further. Instead, he straightens his rumpled suit, attempts to recover his dignity. "When you come to your senses, call me. I'll send a car."

Amber doesn't respond, just watches as he moves toward the stairs. At the bottom step, he pauses, looking back at us—his daughter and the man he tried to destroy, united against him.

"I did love you," he says, and for once, I think he might be sincere. "In my way."

"I know," Amber replies softly. "Goodbye, Daddy."

He leaves without another word, footsteps echoing on the stone steps until the door closes behind him. The silence he leaves is heavy, laden with everything that's happened, everything that's changed.

I turn to Amber, expecting... what? Regret? Disappointment? Certainly not the smile that curves her lips, sad but real.

"You did it," she says, moving back into my arms as if it's the most natural place in the world. "You chose mercy."

"I chose you," I correct her, wrapping her in my embrace. "There was no other choice to make."

She tilts her face up to mine, tears drying on her cheeks. "You could have gone through with it. With your revenge. I would have understood, even if I couldn't have stayed."

The thought of her leaving—of this house returning to its cold emptiness, of my bed without her warmth, of days without her laughter—cuts deeper than any knife ever could.

"No," I say, the word both admission and vow. "Fifteen years of hate isn't worth one day without you."

Her smile widens, brightening her tear-stained face. "Say it again," she whispers. "What I said to you."

I know what she means. The words I've never spoken, not in fifteen years of darkness. The words I'm still not sure I deserve to say.

"I love you," I tell her, and it feels like liberation, like chains falling away. "God help me, I love you, Amber."

She rises on tiptoe, bringing her lips to mine in a kiss that tastes of salt and sweetness and something like redemption. "That's all I needed to hear," she murmurs against my mouth. "That's all I ever needed."

As I hold her in that stone basement where moments ago I'd planned to exact my revenge, I realize the truth of what she's done.

She hasn't just saved her father, or even me.

She's saved something I thought long dead—the man I was before hate consumed me, the man who could love without fear, who could choose mercy over vengeance.

That man was never truly gone, just buried beneath scar tissue and rage. And somehow, this slender woman with her honey-gold hair and stubborn heart has brought him back to life.

"Take me upstairs," she says, resting her head against my chest. "Take me home."

Home. The word has never held meaning until now, until her. I scoop her into my arms, cradling her against me as I carry her up the stairs, leaving the basement and its ghosts behind.

Whatever comes next—with her father, with the past that still looms between us—I'll face it with her by my side. Because for the first time in fifteen years, I'm choosing life over death, love over hate.

For the first time in fifteen years, I'm choosing to live.