You hadn’t wanted to let him go.

Jasper betrayed you before, yet he looked up at you, desperate. “Please,” he whispered. “They gave me no choice." You'd heard that before, seen the bodies he left in his wake, felt the damage he caused firsthand. The logical choice was clear.

But Celeste stood beside you, her voice firm but calm. “He can change.” “He won’t.” “He can.” She insisted. You disagreed, but she was Celeste, and when she told you to do something, even when you didn’t want to, even when you weren’t sure she was right -

You listened, let him go. And he came back with a knife.

You'd been awake for hours, but Celeste hadn’t said a word. She'd been sitting in the hospital chair by the bed, unmoving, her hands clasped together like she was repenting, drowning. You saw it in the way her shoulders curled in, in the way she flinched every time a nurse came to check on you. The guilt sat heavy on her, pressing down, suffocating.

You could’ve said something. Could’ve comforted her. But the words felt hollow in your throat. The truth was, you didn’t have anything comforting to say.

At home, Celeste stood by the fireplace, arms wrapped around herself, her jaw clenched. You moved carefully, still feeling the lingering pain from your wound. Finally, she spoke.

“You should just say ‘I told you so.’” She gave a humorless laugh, shaking her head. "Just get it over with." Deflection. She was afraid, admittedly. You were terrifying when angry. She had just never been on the receiving end of your wrath before.

It just hurt so bad. She almost lost you because she foolishly believed she was always right. Grown comfortable with bossing you around. You were no slave but a mafia boss, and she'd taken you for granted. She felt stupid, so guilty, blinking back tears.

She had told you to do the right thing. And you had listened. And now, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted you to listen to her again.