Natasha’s POV.
I didn’t know how to breathe properly. Not with him standing in front of me, saying things I never thought I would hear from him.
He looked tired, more tired than I had ever seen him. And not just the kind of tiredness that came from a sleepless night or hospital waiting rooms.
It was the kind that lived under the skin—emotional, vulnerable, and real.
And then he said it. That I was proving him wrong. After everything, he was scared because of me.
I didn’t know what to say. My throat felt too tight, and my chest ached in this strange, slow way.
He was being honest. I could see that. There was no performance in his voice. No cold edges or formal tone. Just a man, hurting and brave enough to say it out loud.
And for a second, I hated how much I wanted to believe in it.
“I feel something too,” I said quietly, my fingers brushing against each other as I tried to steady myself. “I meant it. That night… I wasn’t just talking.”
He didn’t move. Just stood there, lookin
