Rain tapped on the hood of the truck like a ticking clock. Rosalie didn't say a word, letting the silence hold.
Aiden pulled his hood back. "You want the truth?" he muttered. "Fine. But you're not gonna like it."
"I'm not here to like it," she said softly. "I'm here because I care."
He scoffed, shaking his head, but it wasn't bitterness—it was the disbelief of someone not used to being given a reason to breathe.
"My mom left me with a crackhead when I was five. Never came back. That woman—the one she dumped me with—sold everything for a hit. Food. Clothes. Me, sometimes."
Rosalie's mouth parted, the depth of that confession hitting hard.
"Then once I got reported I started living in a boys' home on the West Side. Filthy place. Mold on the walls, kids stacked like trash. Nobody made it out unless you ran fast or played mean."
Rosalie's eyes didn't leave his face.
"I ran faster than most," he said. "But I didn't run to escape. I ran for people. For crews. For heat. Dope. Weapons. Information. I was small, invisible. Perfect little ghost. That's where the name started. Shade."
The word lingered in the air like smoke from a gun.
"I was good at it. Too good. Eventually I moved up—became the one giving the orders. Connie was there too. She watched me climb. Helped, sometimes. Hurt, sometimes more. But the whole time, every move I made, every brick I moved, every bone I broke… it was all for one thing."
His voice lowered to a razor's edge.
"Revenge."
bett
Rosalie shifted, something in her expression darkening—not out of fear, but empathy. Like a part of her recognized that cold fire.
"Someone hurt you?" she asked.
"No. Someone destroyed me." His jaw clenched.
"I was just a kid—maybe ten—when I was drowning in the streets. Literally. I got jumped by some guys trying to teach me a lesson. If it wasn't for Mrs. Palpanini, I wouldn't be here."
Rosalie's brow furrowed.
"She... saved my life that day. Pulled me out of the water, patched me up when no one else cared."
Aiden swallowed, voice thick with memory.
"After that, she took me under her wing. By the time I was sixteen, she'd taught me three languages—French, Spanish, Russian. Said I needed to be smarter than the streets if I wanted to survive. She taught me how to handle a gun, how to defend myself. Not just to fight, but to never be the victim again."
Rosalie listened intently, the sharp edge of his past softening in her gaze.
"I was still Shade, but I was a sharper Shade. More dangerous. More controlled. She didn't want me to waste my life in the gutter."
Aiden's eyes met hers, a flicker of something vulnerable beneath the tough exterior.
"She was the first person who made me believe I could be more than a street kid chasing revenge."
Rosalie reached out, her hand brushing his arm. "That's... a lot. You're carrying so much."
He let out a breath, the weight momentarily easing.
"Yeah, but it's all part of the deal."
Their faces drew closer, the space between charged and fragile—until a sudden noise snapped the moment. A shadow passed by outside, breaking their closeness like glass.
Aiden stepped back, running a hand through his hair. "Guess that was more than you bargained for."
Rosalie smiled softly, eyes shining. "Exactly what I needed to hear."