Fated Series. Book #2
"Be possessive of me, own me, keep me, because if you do then nothing and no one else can." - Maddox.
My name is Maddox Vallero, and I'm dead.
Well, that's not quite true. I'm alive in the breathing, walking, talking sense-but...
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Chapter 27 The Lab Rat Maddox
"Kirsan, I said fuck no."
I leaned forward in my office chair, tension coiling in my chest. A thread of worry started to weave itself into my breath, but it was the way Kirsan's dark oak eyes lifted from his phone—the way his brow arched, completely unbothered—that told me I should be fucking panicking.
Me, personally? I saw a massive problem with his suggestion.
Mateo, on the other hand, was lounging beside him, his arms crossed, his expression far too entertained. He wasn't even trying to stop this horror show from unfolding. No, the bastard was smirking into his fist, clearly thrilled to see what kind of shit his lunatic brother was about to start.
Kirsan's gaze stayed pinned on me, his focus too sharp, too steady. "You said you were ready to try it my way," he deadpanned, impatience bleeding into his tone.
"I was. I am," I shot back. "Just not this way. Choose someone else."
I could already feel myself losing this argument.
You'd think I'd never find myself in a situation where I had to talk Kirsan out of dragging my ex-girlfriend—fuck, that stings to say—into one of his psychotic little experiments, but here we are. Two days post-breakup, and I've had nothing but time to dwell. Considering I barely sleep, you can imagine how many hours I've spent picking this apart, dissecting every moment, every mistake. And now, after tearing myself to shreds with overthinking, I understand something I hadn't before.
I swore I was ready to love, but I wasn't. Not until I learned to let go. Not until I remembered who the fuck I was.
I needed to love myself before I could love her the way she deserved.
Sophia leaving destroyed me—obliterated every part of me—but in the wreckage, it also rebuilt me. I think I needed that. I needed the lesson in getting back up again. I thought I understood loss, thought I knew what heartbreak was. But that night, lying in bed, I realized I had no fucking clue what real suffering felt like. And maybe fate was waiting for that moment to teach me.
Everything I'd hated about myself before—the disgust, the avoidance, the fear—vanished when I understood that I am supposed to be touched. The brainwashing wore off, and I was left with the aching realization that I need to be wanted. I need someone to crave me the way I crave them. Someone who walks in just to breathe me in, to wrap their arms around me from behind and quiet the noise in my head. I need that.
But I don't want it if it's not Sophia.
So, while I work on getting my shit together, we've been orbiting each other, pretending we don't have a mess to clean up. She's stronger than I am—because while I'm falling apart behind closed doors, she's out there with her head held high, fire still burning in her eyes, unfaltering, unwavering. And that's exactly what I adore about her. Sophia is defined by that fire. It's in her stance, in her voice, in the way she refuses to yield. It's the kind of fire I need beside me. It's the kind of fire I need to be loved by.
