We were free from the lies of the past, but shackled by the consequences of the truth.
The penthouse had never felt more like a fortress. Upon our discharge, Lysander had swept me from the hospital into a cocoon of silent, hyper-vigilant security. The sleek, minimalist lines of his home, once a symbol of cold control, now felt like the only barrier against a world that had twice tried to shatter us. The external threat was contained, the revenge plot was ashes. All that was left was the charged, fragile space between us, and the ghost of his confession hanging in the air.
He was a study in contradictions. His touch was possessive, his eyes followed my every move as if I might vanish, yet a wall had gone up behind his gaze. The man who had whispered "I love you" against my skin in the hos
