Her cries. Her screams. The silence that came after.
I would’ve done anything to stop it. Anything to set her free. And I did.
After being recaptured by Kyro, I spent another year inside that hell, hoping she was still alive, that he hadn’t gotten her again and that she truly escaped. So, seeing her here, right in front of me, lifts a heavy weight off my chest.
She suddenly bolts forward, pushing people out of the way so she can get to me. I stand rooted to the spot, my pulse pounding in my ears, until finally, she crashes into my weak body.
I take a step back, trying to balance, but her arms squeeze around me so tightly, I almost can’t breathe. I hug her back as she weeps into my shoulder, stroking the back of my black hair.
“I’m so sorry, Ara,” she whispers through a sob.
I pull back and cup her warm face, my eyes searching hers, a mirror of my own.
“Don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong.” I assure her, hating the fact she’s apologizing for what that dirty pervert did to us.
Her gaze sweeps over my face, taking in every feature now, and I realize how much she looks like me in some ways. She then places her hand on my cheek, her fingers trembling.
“What the fuck happened?” she sniffles, her voice choked with emotion.
I feel my eyes ease before I draw a deep breath.
“It’s a long story, but I’m here now. We’re together, and that’s all that matters.”
She nods, tears tumbling down her cheeks.
“I thought I lost you forever. I even started to think you weren’t real and I was imagining things.”
I smile softly before wrapping an arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward a nearby bench. As we sit, I catch her throwing a glance over her shoulder at Hell, who’s now caught up with some other people.
Then, she turns back to me, her expression shifting, ready to listen.
“When we fled, we split,” I explain. “But I was caught and taken somewhere else.”
Her eyes flutter shut for a moment before she lowers her head, her jaw tensing.
“Don’t worry, Harley,” I say, squeezing her shoulder lightly.
“I shouldn’t have left you,” she murmurs, guilt laced into every word.
“Why?” I shake my head. “You deserved freedom. I had to listenevery fucking dayfor a year to what those sick bastards were doing to you. I hated it. And I knew, no matter what, I was going to get you out of there.”
“Did he hurt you?” she asks, her lips pressing into a thin line.
I pause. Juststaringat her. Because in the end, does it really matter? What I went through is nothing compared to what she suffered in their hands. And she seemshappy now.I won’t stain that with my pain.
I shrug, lowering my gaze. “Nothing he wouldn’t usually do. Roughed me up a bit, but it wasn’t like what he did to you.”
She hesitates, her fingers clenching in her lap. “Did he ever…” she trails off, unable to finish the question.
I close my eyes, letting my past press against me before I shake my head. “No. I honestly don’t even know why I was there. Maybe just to give you false hope? He was fucked in the head.”
“Well,” she breathes, her voice firmer now, “he’s dead now.”
I lift my head, my eyes drifting to Hell in the distance.
“I know,” I say, looking back at her. “Your boyfriend told me.”
She turns to glance at him too, her expression shifting into something distant, somethingdeep.She doesn’t even blink as she murmurs, “He’s so much more than a boyfriend. He’s my fuckingeverything.”