Chapter 177 ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY SEVEN

Chapter 177: Chapter ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY SEVEN

VINCENZO

"I’m s-sorry!"

I’d been in a daze, a foggy trance that snapped at those two words of apology.

Then the reality of the room rushed back, crashing into me.

All of it.

The ragged, frantic hitch of my own breathing.

The way my fingers were still buried deep into the soft flesh of her arms, gripping her hard enough to leave deep, dark bruises tomorrow.

I was pinning down a pregnant woman. My pregnant woman. Standing over her like she was an enemy to hurt

The sound of her sob cut cleanly through the last of the haze.

She was crying.

Because of me.

The realization landed like a sledgehammer directly to my sternum.

The echo of the words I’d just snarled at her terrified me so intensely that I wanted to put a bullet through my own skull right then and there.

"I’m sorry, I am SORRY!" she apologized again, her voice trembling under the weight of her panic.

"..." I opened my mouth, but my throat was tight, choked with ash.

No words came.

I wanted to reach back through time, and strangle the version of myself who had spoken those ugly, venomous words to her.

Instead, I rolled off her like her skin had burned me, putting distance between us.

I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t bear to witness the wreckage I’d just caused.

But I heard it. The wet, hiccupping sob she tried so desperately to swallow. Every tiny, pathetic sound was a rusted knife twisting deeper into the space between my ribs.

When I finally forced my gaze to shift, the sight of her nearly destroyed what little sanity I had left.

She had curled tightly into herself, knees dragged up to her chest, her face buried against them. Making herself as small, as invisible as humanly possible.

Hiding from me.

My Angel. The girl who had run toward me her entire life, who had never known fear as long as I was standing beside her—she was trying to disappear so I couldn’t hurt her anymore.

Fuck.

The guilt swelled, suffocating me until my lungs refused to expand.

"Angel—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I wasn’t—"

"It’s okay."

The words were muffled against her knees, but they still hit me like a slap across the face.

"It’s okay," she repeated, and this time she lifted her head just enough to look at me.

Her cheeks streaked with tears that caught the dim light. And she was trying to smile. She was arranging her expression into something that would make me feel better.

She was comforting me.

I had just traumatized her, and she was trying to comfort me.

"I expected this," she said quietly. "I knew it would happen eventually."

My blood ran cold.

’Maybe at first. But later, he’ll begin to resent you.’

Damien’s voice, she’d told me he told her that and I had just confirmed every fucking lie he’d ever said.

"Angel, that’s not true," My stomach lurched, acid climbing up my throat, and I had to swallow convulsively to keep from being sick all over the sheets.

I’d hurt her. The only person I’d ever loved. The only person who had ever loved me back without wanting something in return and I had taken that trust and crushed it in my fist because I couldn’t control my own jealousy.

Even dead, Damien was still winning.

The thought made me want to howl. To put my fist through the wall.

"It’s fine if it’s true," Her eyes welled up again, and another curse erupted from me.

"Angel, I swear I didn’t mean it, it just..." I moved toward her, reaching out to touch her shoulder, to pull her close, to somehow fix this—

She flinched.

It was small. Almost imperceptible. Just the tiniest tensing of her muscles, the slightest shift away from my approaching hand.

But I felt it all over again, the blade sliding between my ribs.

"You don’t have to force yourself," she whispered. She wasn’t looking at me. Her eyes were fixed on the rumpled sheets between us, like meeting my gaze was too much to bear. "I understand. You don’t have to pretend like you’re okay."

This was the first time she had ever rejected me.

In all the years we’d been together, she had never once pulled away from me. Even when she should have. Even when I was being overbearing or overprotective or pushing her away for her own good, she had always reached for me.

Always.

Until now.

The rejection cut. It burned something in my chest and left nothing but ash behind.

I stared at my own hands. They were trembling. When had they started doing that?

"I’m sorry, Daddy," Angel said again, "This is all my fault. I keep making you feel guilty just by existing." She sniffled, wiping her face, but her lips still trembled as she stared at me with that sad look that made my heart crush. "Don’t feel bad because of me. Please. I can’t—I can’t take it if you feel bad because of me."

I wanted to grab her. Shake her. Scream at her that none of this was her fault. I was the monster here who’d failed her, she was perfect and I was the one who had ruined everything.

But the words stuck in my throat like shards of glass. Every sentence I tried to form felt inadequate. Pathetic. What could I possibly say that would undo what I’d done? What magic combination of syllables would erase the sadness I’d put in her eyes?

Nothing. There was nothing.

She lay down with her back to me and pulled the covers over her head.

I watched her disappear into a cocoon of white sheets, putting a barrier between us that felt more impenetrable than steel.

I lay down beside her and stared at the ceiling.

The room was silent except for the sound of her breathing—still shaky, recovering from the sobs I’d caused.

Fuck.

I was so fucked.