Thee drive to my apartment was thick with silence, broken only by Conrad's shallow breathing and the distant hum of city life beyond the car windows. His men carried him inside, their hands steady but their eyes sharp with suspicion. When we reached my bedroom, I slipped past them and pulled open a cabinet, retrieving my first aid kit.

"You can wait outside," Conrad said, his voice low but commanding.

"Boss, are you sure?" one of them asked, his gaze flicking toward me, doubt etched into his features.

Conrad's eyes remained on mine. "Yes."

They hesitated for a moment longer before stepping back into the hallway, their presence a dark wall of muscle and vigilance outside the door.

As I turned to face him, memories flooded my mind. The last time he had been here, we were laughing like fools, tangled in each other's arms, breathless from stolen kisses. His smile had been soft, his voice playful as he confessed how much he liked me. How happy we had been, how innocent in that brief, stolen moment.

Now, he sat on the edge of my bed, bloodied and broken.

And I had become someone he didn't trust.

I winced as I watched him expertly stitch the gash in his side. His hands moved with practiced precision, threading the needle through torn skin as if it were nothing more than fabric. Every grunt of pain twisted something inside me, but his expression remained cold, determined.

He had done this before. Too many times.

The needle moved through the last bit of flesh, and he sighed, the breath shuddering from his chest as exhaustion set in. He leaned back against the pillows, his arm slipping limply to his side.

I stepped forward, a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol held between my fingers. He eyed me warily, but he didn't have the strength to argue.

"Let me," I whispered.

He exhaled heavily as I settled beside him on the bed, close enough to feel the warmth of his skin. His shirt hung open, the torn fabric exposing the bruises that marred his ribs. The dim glow of the moonlight from the window traced the sharp lines of his jaw and the dark circles beneath his eyes.

I pressed the cotton gently to the wound on his temple. He flinched, his head jerking away from my touch.

"Stay still," I murmured, my hand firm as I cupped his jaw and turned his face toward me.

His eyes burned into mine, stormy and guarded.

I dabbed the wound again, ignoring the way his muscles tightened beneath my fingers. He breathed sharply through his nose, but he didn't pull away this time. The silence between us thickened, heavy with unspoken words.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking as I worked.

"For what?" His tone was cold, but there was something raw beneath it.

"For lying to you," I said, my gaze never leaving his. "For making you believe I was someone else."

He closed his eyes, his jaw clenching beneath my hand.

"I didn't want to be this." I swallowed hard, the weight of the truth pressing against my chest. "I didn't want you to look at me the way you are now."

Conrad opened his eyes, the storm still raging behind them. His hand rose slowly, trembling as he caught my wrist. His touch was both gentle and firm, grounding me even as it burned.

"You're dangerous," he said, his voice a low, rough whisper.

"So are you," I replied.

He pulled me closer, our lips brushing, his breath warm against my face. "Who are you, Thea?"

I pressed a hand to his chest, gently but firmly pushing him back against the pillows. My heart screamed at me to stay close, but my mind kept me from surrendering completely.

"My father..." I hesitated, searching his eyes before looking away. "He's in a similar line of business. I don't know exactly what, but..."

He grunted, his body tense with pain, but his curiosity sharpened. "Go on."

"He was in a clan once. He left years ago. Now he works independently." I exhaled slowly. "He taught me everything. How to survive. How to fight. How to—" I swallowed hard.

"What's his name?"

I wet my lips, my heartbeat a thunderous roar in my ears. "Marcus Lane. Do you know him?"

Conrad's brow furrowed as he searched his memory. Finally, he shook his head.

Relief coursed through me, but it was fleeting. I sighed, the weight of my confession settling over me like a heavy cloak. "He stopped for a while. Worked in different countries. He's back now." I met Conrad's gaze again, my voice quiet. "I didn't want that life. So, I left."

He looked away, his silence a wall I couldn't breach.

I reached out, cupping his face in both hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. "I would never hurt you," I whispered, my voice raw. "I promise. I..." My hand slipped from his face as I sighed.

"Since I was a kid, I've been trained to handle guns. Martial arts. Everything. My father didn't want me to be at a disadvantage." I bit my lip, my eyes stinging. "That's how I..."

Conrad's eyes darkened as I spoke, each word pulling us deeper into a place where truths could no longer be undone. His fingers brushed my cheek as I leaned into his hand, my tears warm against his touch.

"I trust you, Thea," he whispered.

It was a beautiful lie.

The weight of it settled between us, heavy and fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering.

"Conrad," I began, my voice trembling with a vulnerability I could no longer hide. "I thought you already knew everything. Yesterday at the studio... you were so distant. I thought—" I broke off, swallowing the knot in my throat. "I thought you found out. Maybe you had someone look into me. Or your mother..."

His expression shifted, subtle but unmistakable. His gaze grew colder, harder, as if some distant memory or realization had surfaced.

The silence stretched.

My chest ached with the need to hear him say something—anything. But he said nothing.

My breath hitched as I sat there, my heart a mess of fear and longing. I felt raw, exposed. "I'm sorry," I whispered again, my hands trembling as I clutched his. "I need you to believe me. I need you to—"

His fingers tightened around mine, cutting off my words. "Thea..."

The sound of my name on his lips made my pulse falter.

"Why do you want my trust so badly?" he asked, his voice low, each word a carefully measured blade. "Why does it matter so much?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge, daring me to confront a truth I wasn't ready to face.

"Because..." I breathed, the tears falling faster now, my chest tightening painfully. "Because when I'm with you, I'm not afraid."

His eyes softened for a fleeting second—just a second—before the guarded walls returned.

He cupped my face again, his thumb tracing the path of a tear down my cheek. "Fear is smart," he said, his tone a mix of warning and tenderness. "Fear keeps you alive."

I closed my eyes, leaning into him as if I could steal his strength, his certainty. "Then why aren't you afraid of me?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he pulled me closer, his lips brushing mine, his breath warm and slow, tasting of blood and truth. "Who are you, Thea?"

I shivered at the question, at the way it slipped from his mouth like a prayer, desperate and searching.

"I'm someone who's tired of running," I whispered.

Our lips met in a kiss that burned away everything—lies, secrets, even fear itself. His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me deeper into him as if he could lose himself in me, as if I could be his salvation.

When we finally pulled apart, I stayed close, my forehead resting against his.

"Who are you really, Conrad?" I whispered.

His breath hitched, and for the first time, he looked like a man who had no answer.

He let out a breath, his hand sliding from my wrist to cover mine. His grip was firm, possessive, as though holding on to me kept him anchored. "I've done things, Thea."

His eyes burned into mine. "I've killed for power. For control. For things no one should care about but me." His voice dropped lower, the truth like a razor's edge. "I've lied, cheated, destroyed lives. And I didn't regret it."

A cold shiver raced down my spine, but I didn't pull away.

"You've done all those things to protect yourself." I licked my lips, my words deliberate. "That's what we do to survive."

"It's more than survival." His hand clenched tighter. "I like it. I love it."

The admission hit me like a fist to the chest.

My breath hitched as a thousand questions ran through my mind, but only one surfaced. "And me?"

"What about you?"

"Was I just a game to you?"

His grip loosened, and his hand fell away. The space between us grew vast, like a chasm I wasn't sure either of us could cross. "You were never a game," he said quietly.

The truth lay naked between us.

"You knew this was dangerous from the start," he continued, his voice thick with conviction.

"But I chose to stay." I whispered, "I walked away from that life only to walk back into it. I wanted to stay Conrad. I want to stay. With you."

"I should've walked away from you. I knew it the moment I touched you, the moment I realized how badly I wanted you."

"Then why didn't you?"

His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as if it took all his strength to keep his emotions in check. "Because wanting you felt like something I didn't have to lie about."

The ache in my chest deepened. "And now?"

Conrad reached out slowly, tracing his fingers down my arm, his touch a whisper of fire. "Now, I don't know what's real."

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: TRUTH IN THE DARK
1720 words

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