papa may care for me, but he’d never truly loved me. I was simply a token of his toxic obsession with a famous opera singer. It felt like he’d abandoned me years ago, but there was a finality in the realization and watching him walk away that sent a shard of glass through my heart. The mayhem in my chest convinced me of my next conversation starter. Staring after my papa’s retreat, I said, “If you hurry, you might be able to catch him in the parking lot.” “Pll pass.” Ronan’s tone was derisive. “He knows you’re not going to harm me now. You’ve lost the upper hand.” “He’s been here all day,” Ronan snapped. “If I wanted to kill him, I could have done it multiple times by now.” I drew my gaze his way. The sight of him filled me with a heavy longing that spread through my veins: for him to touch me, hold me, show me he cared. Though the reminder I couldn’t have any of that felt like a blow to the chest. I swallowed. “So you’ve given up on your revenge?” He clenched his teeth. “You think revenge is on my mind right now?” “You hit him,” I challenged. “That was necessary to regain my concentration.” “Your concentration of watching me sleep.” “Yes,” he growled. His response would be amusing if my heart wasn’t burning and retaliating against the decision I’d made. Nervously, I focused on messing with the tape that held my IV in my hand. “So if revenge isn’t on your mind right now, then what is?” “Pm waiting.” I glanced at him. “For what?” His eyes narrowed. “For the speech of forgiveness, ‘but it’s probably best if we part ways.’” I looked away, unable to see the turmoil flaring in his eyes. He didn’t like being left behind—yet it seemed he was by everyone who mattered to him. And knowing I was only another one of them tightened my throat, burning the backs of my eyes. It wasn’t until he got to his feet and set a single heart-shaped earring on the bedside table that the panic kick-started in my chest. What was I doing? Why was I doing this? As he headed to the door, my heart screamed at me