You’d been together long enough to know Adrian Chase’s patterns.

You knew when he was tired.

You knew when he was angry.

You knew when he was scared.

But you didn’t know how to fix the way he felt about himself.

Because Adrian didn’t just believe he was dangerous.

He believed he was unworthy.

It started on a night like any other—too quiet, too still.

You were sitting on his couch, shoulders pressed together, sharing a blanket that smelled like him.

He was staring at the TV, but not really watching it.

His hands were clenched.

His jaw was tight.

And you could feel the storm coming.

“Adrian,” you said softly. “Talk to me.”

He didn’t look at you.

“I don’t deserve this,” he said quietly.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

He finally turned his head.

His eyes were dark, heavy with something that felt like shame.

“I don’t deserve love,” he said.

You blinked. “That’s not true.”

He shook his head. “It is. I kill people.”

You sat up, startled. “Adrian—”

“I kill people,” he repeated, voice shaking. “And I do it like it’s nothing. Like it’s easy. Like it’s a hobby.”

You reached for his hand.

He flinched away.

“I don’t want you touching me,” he whispered. “Because you shouldn’t have to be near someone like me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to keep your own emotions from spilling over.

“Adrian,” you said, voice steady. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He scoffed softly. “You don’t understand.”

You swallowed. “Try me.”

He stared at you for a long moment.

Then he said, “Do you know what it feels like?”

You shook your head.

“It feels like… you’re looking at a monster,” he said. “And you’re trying to convince yourself the monster is just a person. And you’re failing.”