He watches the realization settle over me, the truth I hadn’t seen back then. They weren’t gentle with me because I was fragile. They were protective—possessive, even. Not because I was weak… but because I mattered.
I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat doesn’t move.
This room holds more than just memories. So does this boy-turned-man, who now has me caged in with nothing but truth and tension between us.
And I’m not sure which one is more dangerous.
His eyes are on me, steady and unflinching, as if the truth has been building in his chest for years and he’s finally ready to let it out. His voice is low, rough around the edges when he speaks—but there’s no hesitation.
“I waited for you,” he says simply. “All these years… I never gave myself to anyone else.”
The words land like a blow straight to my chest. Not because I ever doubted Ronan was capable of that kind of loyalty—but because I knew he was. And hearing it out loud, knowing he’s held onto something that pure for so long, something sacred in a world determined to tear us apart… it cracks me open in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
My lips part, trembling. I try to steady them, to push the emotion back, but it slips out anyway. “It’s only ever been you. All of you,” I whisper, voice catching. “But… Rowen was the first, and last.”
The silence that follows is dense, weighted with disbelief. It’s written all over his face—the shock, the slow assembling of a truth he never saw coming. His jaw tightens, then eases, like he’s not just absorbing my words but everything they carry with them. Then, unexpectedly, a short, breathless laugh slips from him, more stunned than amused.
“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figures.” My brows draw together, confused, but before I can ask, he looks back at me with that crooked smirk that always meant trouble. “Rowen’s been keeping a secret,” he says, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. “All these years, I’ve wondered… and now I know.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask cautiously.
He steps closer, eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and heat. “That’s partly how I knew it was you,” he says. “When I saw your fight. When I heard you. My body knew before my brain did.”
I blink. “What?”
Ronan shrugs one shoulder, unabashed. “Haven’t gotten hard for another woman since you disappeared, Berk. Not once. Not even a twitch.”
I blink again. “You’re serious.”
He just nods, like it’s the most natural confession in the world. “It’s always been you. My body never forgot.”
The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it—sharp, startled, and a little disbelieving. “So, what you’re saying… is that abonergave me away?”
He grins now, wide and wicked. “Dead giveaway.”
I shake my head, laughing harder this time, the weight between us lifting just enough to let the warmth in. Of course he would say that. Of course,that’swhat gave me away. Leave it to Ronan to make something so simple feel like a declaration of devotion.
And somehow, I love him even more for it.
My fingers grip the front of his shirt, slowly curling into the fabric as I tug him toward me—not forcefully, just enough to close the space that’s been stretching between us for years. His eyes lock on mine, searching, raw and unreadable. I search back, hoping my gaze says everything my mouth is too afraid to speak.
We’re both searching for something in the other—some fragment of what we were, a hint of what might still be possible, some anchor in the chaos that’s been dragging us under.
Our foreheads meet, breaths blending, skin pressed to skin. My nose brushes his, slow and gentle, and the tight coil in my chest loosens just a fraction.
“I love you,” I whisper, the words slipping from my lips like a confession I’ve carried too long. My voice trembles, but I don’t pull back. “If you can forgive me…” I pause, letting the weight of it settle between us. “I’ll love you forever.”
I failed to protect her, and I stayed silent for years.
I don’t explain what I mean. I don’t have to. Not yet. There’s too much we both don’t say. Too many truths are fractured into different versions of the same story.
But none of it matters in this moment.
Before he can speak—before he can ask the questions I’m not ready to answer—I rise to my toes and slam my mouth to his, silencing the words before they ever form.
His breath catches against mine for a heartbeat, then he responds—completely, fiercely—like he’s been holding this in for just as long as I have.
Between kisses, I mumble against his lips, “There’ll be time for words tomorrow…”