Coban’s POV:

The hiss of water filled the small bathroom, steam curling against the cold tiles, swallowing me whole. I leaned into the spray, bracing my palms flat against the wall, head bowed low. The sting of heat against raw skin was grounding, but it wasn’t enough.

It never was.

I’d apologized. The words had scraped out of me like broken glass, bitter and raw, but I’d forced them past my teeth because she deserved at least that. Still, the apology felt like a bandage slapped over a wound that went bone deep. It stopped the bleeding, sure, but it didn’t fix the infection festering underneath it.

Because she didn’t know.

She had no idea what lived in me…

Every time I shut my eyes, the memories crawled out of their graves. My father’s voice – sharp, cruel, laced with alcohol and fury – boomed in the hollow of my skull. His hands, too big, too heavy, always pressing, always striking, always teaching me what it meant to be a ‘man’.

When I’d had her under my hand this morning, her throat so fragile beneath my grip, I hadn’t been looking at Margot. Not really. I’d been staring into the past – into his eyes, into his sneer, and for a split second, I’d felt like maybe I could crush him out of existence, rid the world of that shadow once and for all. But when reality snapped back, when her gasps filled my ears and her wide eyes met mine, I realized what I’d done. Who I’d been doing it to.

Her. Not him.

A low growl rumbled out of my chest, frustration and shame tangled so tightly I could barely breathe. I shoved off the wall and slammed my palm flat against the tile. The sound cracked through the steam, sharp and hollow.

She should know.

The thought was a curse and a relief at the same time. She should know the truth. That I wasn’t just some monster bred from nothing, that the nightmare I carried wasn’t fabricated. It was stitched into me by the hands of the man who was supposed to protect me. My father had made me, broken me, and every scar, every twitch of rage that surfaced, it was him, clawing his way back into my mind. And if I didn’t tell her, then one day she’d only see the monster. Never the reason behind it.

Groaning, I pressed both palms against the slick tiles again and hung my head, letting the water beat against my back until it felt like fire. Margot deserved the truth. And I’d never owed anyone in my life a damn thing – until her.

I rinsed the last of the soap from my skin and shut off the water, standing in the silence that followed. Drops fell from me in quick lines, splattering against the tiles like a ticking clock. I toweled off, dragged the rough fabric across my chest and shoulders, then pulled on a pair of clean boxer briefs. My movements were sharp, too controlled, because if I let myself slip, I’d crack open again.

I pushed the bathroom door open, the heavy air of steam spilling into the cell as I stepped out with it.

And there she was. Laid sideways on the bed, her legs tucked up slightly, a book in her hand. The lamplight cast her in warm shadows, making the delicate curve of her cheek glow as her eyes scanned line after line, lost in whatever world those pages built for her.

For a second – just one goddamn second – I forgot everything. Forgot my father. Forgot the prison. Forgot the blood on my hands and the ghosts in my head. All I saw was her. Small, fragile, but somehow unbreakable. Wrapped in her story like armor, breathing steady, alive.

My chest ached with something I didn’t want to name.

I stood there longer than I should’ve, silent, watching, the storm inside me pausing as if even it didn’t dare disturb her. She didn’t notice me, not at first. And maybe that was for the best. Because I could drink her in this way, quietly, safely. She wasn’t glaring or trembling. She wasn’t recoiling from me. She was just… existing. Something I didn’t think I deserved to witness.

Finally, I cleared my throat, the sound low, rough in my chest.

She jumped, the book nearly slipping from her hand as her head snapped up, eyes wide. And I cursed myself, because for that split second before fear returned to her gaze, she’d looked peaceful. And I’d stolen it from her – again.

The softest crease formed between her brows as if she wasn’t sure whether to scold me for scaring her or retreat into herself again.

I stayed where I was. A few feet away, arms crossed, posture hard as stone. It was easier to stay locked up than to show the cracks splintering through me.

But Christ… she made it impossible.

Her breathing steadied after a moment, and she sat up a little straighter on the mattress, closing the book between her palms. I noticed the way her thumb still marked the page, careful, like even now she couldn’t let go of the world inside.

“Didn’t hear you come out,” she said quietly, her voice thin but even.

“No.” My answer came rough, clipped, like I hadn’t spoken in days. I cleared my throat again, forcing myself to unravel my arms, forcing my hands to rest at my sides before I broke something. “You were… busy.”

Her gaze darted down, just for a heartbeat, then back to mine. The tension swelled between us, thick as the steam still clinging to my skin.

I should’ve left it at that. Should’ve let her go back to her book, should’ve sat down and kept my mouth shut like I had my whole damn life. But the words were already clawing their way up my throat, and if I swallowed them, they’d eat me alive.

“Bella.”

Her name slipped out slower than I’d meant it to, heavy and deliberate. She froze slightly at the sound, lips parting as if to ask what I wanted.

But I didn’t let her.

“You should know…” My jaw flexed, muscles working against the weight of the words. My pulse thudded in my ears. Say it. Spit it out before you choke. “What happened this morning – it wasn’t you I was seeing. It wasn’t…”

Her eyes softened a fraction, but confusion lingered.

I raked a hand over my face, dragging it down to my jaw until I could feel the grit of stubble. The memory pressed down like lead, my father’s face burned into my skull, the echo of his laugh, his sneer. I almost couldn’t get it out.

“It was him.” The admission ripped out like a wound tearing open. “My father.”

The silence that followed was brutal. I could feel her stare digging into me, trying to piece together what the hell I meant.

I shifted, restless, pacing once before stopping with my back to her.

I’d said it now… there was no going back.