The world is heavy.
The weight of expectations, the chains of our pasts—no one ever tells you how hard it is to break free from them. I didn't know it back then, but when Johnson first reached out to me, it wasn't just a hand pulling me from the darkness. It was a mirror showing me all the things I needed to fix about myself, too.
I used to think escape was about running away, about cutting ties and leaving everything behind. But I was wrong. Escape isn't freedom. Facing what you are—that is the hardest part.
And Johnson… he had been running for so long, hiding behind his empire of lies and fear, pretending he wasn't drowning in the very life he had built. But I had seen him try to reach for something more. Something better.
The thing about building a new life is that you don't get to leave all of the old one behind. The past doesn't just vanish.
Two weeks had passed since that night in the garden. Things between Johnson and me had changed, but not as quickly as I thought they would. We had learned to talk more openly, to share the things that haunted us, but the shadows still lingered. His world—the world that was built on blood and brokenness—wasn't something I could pretend wasn't there.
I found myself sitting on the couch, trying to focus on the novel I had been reading for days. My eyes scanned the pages, but my thoughts kept drifting to him.
He was always there. Even when he wasn't.
The sound of footsteps broke my thoughts. I looked up to find him standing in the doorway, eyes as dark as ever, but softer somehow. His face—too familiar, too unreadable—still held that tension, but I had begun to see the difference between the man he used to be and the man who was trying so desperately to change.
"We need to talk," he said, his voice low.
I closed the book, setting it aside. My heart skipped a beat, but I forced myself to stay calm. "What about?"
He stepped forward, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze locked on mine. "The life I've built. The things I've done… they won't just disappear. They don't go away, no matter how hard I try."
I bit my lip, feeling the weight of his words. "I know," I said softly. "But that doesn't mean you have to stay in it. You don't have to be the man you once were."
His eyes hardened at my words. "It's not that simple." His voice was a growl, the edge of frustration creeping in. "There's more to it. People I owe, deals I've made. This life doesn't let go so easily, Lilly. And neither do I."
I stood up then, walking toward him, unable to ignore the pain in his eyes. "You're not the only one who's afraid. I am too. But I've seen you fight. I've seen you try. I know you can choose a different path."
He stood still for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath. Finally, his hands slipped from his pockets, and he looked at me—really looked at me—like I was the only person who mattered.
"I'm scared of losing you," he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. "I don't know how to be the man you deserve."
I reached out for his hand, the warmth of his skin grounding me. "Then we'll learn together," I whispered, my heart pounding with something I couldn't name. "You don't have to be perfect. You just have to choose."
He hesitated before his fingers gently curled around mine, the contact enough to send a shiver down my spine. "I don't want to be the man who loses you."
And in that moment, I realized something—he had already started to change. He had already begun breaking the chains that had kept him bound to his past.
The question now wasn't about whether he could change—it was whether I could hold onto him as we both rebuilt ourselves.
The days that followed were a blur of small, quiet moments. We worked side by side, tackling the world he had built—bit by bit, piece by piece. His associates, his enemies, the deals he had made… they were all part of the life he had been tangled in for so long. But every day, he made a choice to step away from it, to let go of the world that had consumed him.
One night, he came home late, his face tense, his hands clenched. "They're not going to let me go, Lilly," he said, his voice strained. "Not without a fight."
I stepped closer to him, my heart in my throat. "Then we'll fight together."
For the first time, I saw something shift in him. A glimmer of hope, a spark of belief that maybe, just maybe, he could let go of the past and build something better. For both of us.
But the fight wouldn't be easy.
The next few weeks brought chaos, but it was a different kind of chaos—a kind that wasn't born of violence, but of choices. Each one felt like a step forward and a step back at the same time. But we never stopped fighting.
Then, one day, a moment of truth arrived.
We were sitting together in the living room, a rare evening with no interruptions, no business, no danger. Just us.
"I've been thinking," I said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence.
He looked at me, his expression unreadable. "About what?"
"About us," I said, my voice stronger than I expected. "About where we're going from here. About what we've been through."
He reached out for my hand, squeezing it gently. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," he said softly. "But I'm asking you to stay."
I looked into his eyes, the man I had come to know and trust in ways I never thought I would. The man who had hurt so many, but who was now trying to heal.
And for the first time, I realized I wasn't afraid anymore.
"I'm not going anywhere," I whispered, my heart full of something stronger than fear.
It was then, standing there, holding his hand, that I knew we weren't just surviving. We were building something new. Together.