Chapter Forty Eight

“Let me go!” Chris shouted, struggling against the arms holding him back. His shoes sank into the sand, his crimson, tear-filled eyes wide and frantic. His chest heaved with labored breaths. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the burning house. Smoke curled violently into the sky, thick and black, while flames roared, dancing like wild beasts.

I have to go in there!

He lunged forward, but the strong hands gripped him tighter—like chains holding him in place. His lips parted to scream, but his throat clenched, burning with panic. His vision blurred with unshed tears, and his skin felt scorched. His heart pounded violently in his chest.

I can’t be late again. I can’t fail her too.

Tears slipped down Chris’s cheeks, catching the red glow of the fire.

Not Isa too. I have to save her!

Chris cried out, thrashing against the men restraining him.

“No! Not again!”

He jolted awake with a loud gasp, drenched in sweat, heart racing like a war drum. He sat upright, eyes wide with terror. He clutched his chest, the pain sharp and almost unbearable, squeezing his eyes shut as he swallowed a groan.

His stomach twisted as the fire replayed in his mind—so much like Stacy’s death. He shivered. Then a name echoed in his head.

Isa

Why that name?

Chris turned slowly. His gaze fell on Isa sleeping beside him. Her messy hair fanned across the pillow, partly hiding her face. The blanket slipped down her chest, draped just beneath her collarbone.

He exhaled shakily. He couldn’t look away. Tears welled again, burning his eyes, and a lump formed in his throat.

Last night, for the first time in seven years, he’d felt whole. She had warmed the coldest parts of him. She had made him smile—truly smile.

But why did it have to be so fleeting?

Her touch, the lingering warmth of her scent, clean and soft from the bath, had stirred something deep inside him. He had refused to let go, returning to her side late last evening, even though he’d tried not to get too close. He feared what danger might reach her if she stepped any closer to him. He wanted to tell her they shouldn’t push the relationship any further, but the words shattered his heart before they ever reached his lips. It was painful—unbearable—to see her with someone else while he kept pretending it meant nothing.

Tears streamed down his face. His hand trembling, he reached out to tuck her hair back, but just inches from her skin, his fingers curled into a tight fist. His knuckles turned white.

He ground his teeth, pain twisting across his features.

I don’t deserve her. All I bring is death.

A bitter laugh broke from his lips—low and broken. He swallowed hard and stared at her for another second, then looked away. He took in a deep breath, and slowly, he slid out of bed.

His expression hardened as he opened a drawer and pulled out a checkbook and a small notebook. They quivered in his hands.

Suddenly, the room felt too hot. His face flushed, blood rushing to his head. His nostrils flared as he clenched his jaw.

He was about to take a step he couldn’t undo.

One that would destroy everything between them.

No turning back after this.

Chris sat back down on the edge of the bed, placing the items on the nightstand. With shaking fingers, he opened the checkbook and fumbled with the edge of the page.

This is the right choice… The only right thing left to do.

I hope you enjoy this chapter! I’d love to hear your thoughts or see your reactions to the story. 😊💬