"I wanted to spare you." He took a step closer, his voice breaking. "But I was also afraid—afraid you would see me as they painted me. Afraid I would lose the only person who ever made me believe I could still be more than what they say I am."
Her chest heaved, torn between fury and the aching pull in his words. She wanted to strike him, to weep against him, to scream until the walls shook.
Instead, her voice broke into a whisper.
"I don't know if I can forgive you."
Lucien closed his eyes, the weight of the words striking him harder than any blade.
But when he opened them again, there was no retreat. Only resolve.
"Then don't forgive me," he said softly. "But stand with me. Help me finish what your parents began. Let their deaths mean something more than ashes."
The fire popped, throwing sparks into the silence that followed.
