To make sure I’m really here.
And for a moment, that’s almost enough to break me.
Because even now, after everything,he still sees me.
Not a ghost.
Not a mistake.
Just me.
Blood drips from the corner of my mouth, slow and warm, the metallic taste thick on my tongue. One of Rowen’s earlier backhands split my lip, and it keeps reopening. Ronan’s eyes track the slow trickle of blood with a sharp, calculated intensity, his gaze darkening with something primal. There’s no hesitation, no question—just raw, rising violence simmering behind his eyes, like a fuse has been lit and he’s seconds from igniting.
Let them see it. Let them look at the blood smeared across my mouth and feel the full weight of it settle into their bones. Let it stick there, heavy and unrelenting, impossible to forget no matter how hard they try. Let it claw at their consciences like thetruth they’ve spent too long ignoring. I don’t wipe it away. Irefuseto.
My lip throbs with each breath I take, the sting sharp and unrelenting, skin torn and split wide enough that the taste of copper lingers on my tongue. Still, I refuse to flinch. I lift my chin, spine rigid, and let it bleed, wearing the wound like a crown instead of a weakness.
I want them to witness it—allof it. The aftermath of what Rowen did. I want it seared into their memories so that every timehecloses his eyes, it’s the first thing he sees. Every time they try to defend him, that blood will be there, dripping from my mouth like a sentence he can’t take back.
The rage that dulled for a moment flares back to life, hot and consuming. My jaw tightens, and before I realize it, my lip curls, baring my teeth like an animal finally done pretending to be harmless. I’m not broken—I’m furious. And pain makes a sharper weapon than fear ever could. The words tear out of me again, harsher now, shaking with the fury I’ve been holding back for far too long.
“I said, where the fuck is Reign, Rowen?!”
The room trembles with it. With the truth. With the demand.
And still, he doesn’t answer.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ronan
She’s a vision of defiance and devastation—a dark, avenging angel with blood on her lips and fury in her eyes. The split looks like it’s reopened, probably from how hard she’s been clenching her jaw to keep from falling apart. Her tears are silent, streaking down her cheeks without sobs or trembling. That’s what guts me the most—she’s beyond breaking. She’s already broken, and despite that, she stands tall. Bleeding and silent and furious.
My brain’s fogged from pain and drugs, but instinct kicks in. I scan the room without needing to think about it. Reign’s room. Untouched since the night everything went to hell. The housekeeper keeps it clean, but she’s never allowed to move anything. It’s a shrine. But the moment I see the nightstand shoved aside; my chest tightens. The vent’s exposed. And she’s holding something—no, clutching it like it’s her last lifeline. Reign’s phone. The one we couldn’t find after that night. My stomach twists.
But it’s not the phone or the room that keeps dragging me deeper into this pit—it’s her. It’s Berk.
Her face is a map of fresh bruises and healing cuts. Injuries that weren’t there the last time we touched. That night,when everything was soft and slow and full of promises, she was whole. Now she looks like she’s been through a war. I know some of that damage came from Trent—Bryce’s pit bull with a trigger finger—but the rest? That’s on Rowen. On Emerson, too. Even if he didn’t throw a punch, he let it happen. He stood back and let him work her over like she wasn’t the girl I’d die to protect.
My blood boils in my veins. I want to tear something apart. They hurt her. My girl. And now that I’m conscious, they’re going to answer for every mark on her skin.
My fury simmers just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over as I glance between Rowen and Emerson. Rage isn’t new to me, but this… this is something deeper. Something venomous. It coils in my gut, bitter and cold. I can barely wrap my head around the fact that they didn’t recognize her. Berk. The girl who’s been a part of us—ofme—since we were barely more than kids. Especially Rowen. He saw her up close. Heard her breath. Watched her bleed. And he still didn’t see her for who she was? That’s not just oversight. That’s betrayal.
But even if they hadn’t known… there were still rules. Boundaries we never crossed, not even in our darkest moments. No hitting women. No hurting kids. That line was non-negotiable. And Rowen—my twin—blurred it. Crossed it. Blew straight past it. I know what he thought. He believed she was the shooter, the traitor who tried to end me. But I’m alive, and he should’ve waited until I could tell him the truth. Should’ve trusted me, trustedher. Instead, he let his paranoia take over, and now? Now he might never recover from the damage he’s done.
My gaze is dragged back to her—my girl, broken on the floor, holding herself together with the barest thread of strength. Her pain is etched into every inch of her, and it’s killing me that I can’t hold her. I can’t fix this. Instead, I force myself to look away for just a moment, my eyes locking on Rowen’s face, and what I see guts me.
His eyes are wide, vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before. Open, but hollow. Like something inside him has fractured too deep to ever be repaired. I’ve seen Rowen angry, furious, even murderous—but never like this. Never this quiet devastation that radiates off him in waves. He doesn’t just regret what he’s done. He’s unraveling because of it. Not recognizing her was one thing. Refusing to believe me was another. Buthurtingher? Causing Berk pain with his own hands? That’s something I don’t think he’ll ever be able to live with.
And I don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive him either.
Berkley’s voice slices through the fog in my mind, sharp and raw, as she screams at Rowen with every ounce of fury she has left. Her words—accusations, pain, a desperate demand for truth—crack something wide open in me. But it’s not just what she says. It’s what she doesn’t know.
She doesn’t know.
The realization hits like a freight train to the chest, sucking the breath from my lungs. She wasn’t here. She vanishedbefore Reign... before we lost her. My knees go weak, but it’s not from the wound in my chest—it’s from this unbearable weight in my soul, the weight of knowing what’s about to happen next.
Berkley doesn’t look at me. Not really. Her eyes keep bouncing between Rowen and Emerson, a storm of fury and betrayal building in their depths. Every glance she throws them is blistering. Accusatory. But I see it—buried behind the rage is a quiet understanding. A gut-deep instinct that something’s been festering beneath the surface, something too heavy to face head-on.