Page 170 of The Art of Ruin

Casey goes still, her bottom lip trembling, eyes glossy, and I hate knowing I did that to her. He caused her pain, but so did I.

And suddenly, all the anger in the room shifts slightly beneath something heavier.

Emotion.

“I was scared,” she admits quietly after a long silence.

The confession tears straight through me, making me clench my fists.

I sit on the edge of the bed before I can stop myself, elbows braced against my knees while I stare down at my hands, trying to hold onto my restraint by a thread. “I should’ve handled it faster.”

Her breath catches softly. “That’s your takeaway from this?”

“He should never have gotten near you.”

“Adriano—”

“I buried him too slowly.”

The honesty of it hangs ugly and enormous between us.

Because I mean every word. Silence settles heavily through the room, only the sound of our breathing breaking it up.

Outside the windows, Manhattan continues its undisturbed rhythm while the space between us feels wider than it has in weeks.

Finally, Casey speaks again. “You lied to me.”

I lift my head slowly. “I know.”

I don’t make excuses or offer any justification.

Because none of them matter now.

“You looked me in the face,” she whispers, eyes shining slightly now, “and acted like none of this was happening.”

The hurt in her voice hits harder than anger ever could, and it tears me up inside. I love this woman and I hurt her. I’m not agood man. I’ve never pretended to be one, but for her, I wanted to be. “I didn’t want you carrying it.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make.”

No, it wasn’t.

But somewhere along the way, loving her started feeling dangerously close to obsession, and the line between protection and control blurred before I realized I’d crossed it. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

The words feel insufficient, but they’re all I have.

Casey looks down at her hands for a second before laughing softly to herself. “I think the worst part is that some really awful part of me isn’t even shocked you did it.”

My chest tightens painfully. “Casey—”

“You love like a natural disaster,” she says quietly, meeting my eyes again. “Do you know that? It’s wild and beautiful, but also terrifying in its intensity because you consume everything.”

The words settle somewhere deep in my gut, and it feels like a hand is twisting my insides in a fist.

Because she’s right. And God help me, I don’t know how to love her any other way.

“You don’t get to decide who burns for hurting me,” she whispers.

I hold her gaze. “No,” I say honestly. “But I’d do it anyway.”