Page 84 of Shattered Obsession

He shakes his head slowly. “No. Protecting someone means sharing the weight. Do you even comprehend what could happen? What still could happen?”

In that frightening instant, I feel a flicker of fear. Not of Xander, my steadfast protector, the one who holds and kisses me, making me his world, but of the man standing before me, enraged, capable of demolishing everything in his path. I must look terrified, because as if sensing my fear, his eyes widen, and the fire within him begins to dim.

“Shit,” he utters, his voice cracking under realization. He takes a step back, hands lifting in a placating gesture, as if to show he is unarmed. “Thalia. Baby. I— God, no. No. I would never. Not to you.”

I’ve never seen him look afraid before.

Not scared of danger.

Scared of himself.

His voice softens. “Hurting you would end me.”

My knees weaken. Not because of the words, but because I believe him.

Tears cascade down my face unbidden, a torrent I can’t contain. He crosses the space between us cautiously, as if I’m a wounded animal he’s afraid to scare. His hands hover uncertainly before finally settling on my shoulders, pulling me gently into his embrace. I can feel him trembling, my steady rock, shaken to his core. My hands grip his shirt like an anchor. My tears soak through the cotton, proof I’m still human, still breakable. But for the first time, breaking feels safe.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers softly into my hair, his breath warm against my skin. “I’m so damn sorry. I just— Fuck, I thought we had this. I thought you trusted me enough to share everything. And I lost it. I should have never yelled. I’ll never scare you like that again.”

Trust doesn’t return in a flood. It returns in drops. And I feel the first one.

He presses his forehead to mine. “You don’t have to carry anything alone. Not anymore.” Xander cups the side of my face. “We don’t have to be perfect.”

“I don’t want to be perfect. I want to be safe.”

“You are safe,” he says gently.

But safety isn’t a location.

It’s a person.

I cling to his shirt, burying my face in his chest as my sobs wrack my body. I know he means every word; his sincerity is palpable. But the fragile crack remains, a delicate reminder that even the fiercest love can burn too hot, leaving scars we must navigate together. Healing isn’t a destination. It’s a choice, over and over. I survived him. I chose me. I choose us.

Later, when he falls asleep beside me, I stare at the ceiling in the dark.

I survived.

But surviving and living aren’t the same.

Xander shifts closer, pulling me against him even in unconsciousness. His arm wraps around my waist like a promise.

Maybe love isn’t a sanctuary or a shield.

Maybe love is the courage to stay.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

-Xander-

I see the flicker of fear in her eyes, and it hits me like a wrecking ball. It’s not the fear generated by the messages or the specter of that monster lurking in her mind.

No—it’s fear of me.

The realization guts me internally, twisting my insides into knots. Nothing has ever unraveled me like the sight of Thalia cowering from me, her form drawing back, her shoulders curling inward as if bracing for impact. I would never harm her. God, I would never lay a finger on her. Yet in that moment, I raised my voice, too sharp, too raw, laced with the ferocity of a wounded animal. The obsession I carry consumed me entirely; I lost sight of everything except my fury. I forgot that my rage is a weapon she feels too, one that inflicts damage even when it’s not aimed directly at her.

At this moment, she fails to see the storm brewing within my chest, the relentless battle between my desire to bury Damien six feet below the earth and my longing to envelop her in my arms, to hold her so tightly that all thoughts of him vanish into oblivion. All she perceives is the tempest, and tonight, I allowed her to think she was caught in its violent spin. I cannot allow that to happen again.

Now, as I hold her, her tears seep into my shirt, forming dark, damp spots against the fabric. Her body trembles against mine like a fragile leaf in a gust of wind. I whisper apologies into her hair, each word filled with a desperate yearning for forgiveness, like a man begging for absolution from a judgment I fear I deserve. But I know deep down that I haven’t earned it, not yet. Because the promise I made to her—to keep her safe and shield her from fear and helplessness—was shattered tonight. Not through violence or physical strength, but through my uncontrolled temper. If I ever wish for her to trust me again, if I ever long for her to look at me without that brief flicker of fear darting across her face, I have to make this right.