All Chapters of His Halo is a Lie: Chapter 91 - Chapter 95

The silence in the penthouse was unbearable.It was the kind of silence that pressed on your chest and made breathing feel like labor. I sat curled up on the sofa, knees tucked to my chest, listening to the tick of the clock on the far wall. Every second that passed was another thread pulling me tighter, strangling the little control I had left.Saint had left hours ago. Lucio too. A convoy of men, cars, and weapons had roared into the night, leaving me behind in this cage of glass and shadows. He had kissed my forehead before he left, told me I was safe here, told me to lock the doors. But I didn’t feel safe. I hadn’t felt safe in a long time.The truth was, I wasn’t scared of Vincent’s men storming the penthouse. I wasn’t even scared of Nico lurking in some corner of the city, waiting for me to break. No. What terrified me was Saint himself. The fury in his eyes when Lucio had said Vincent’s name had been more than rage. It had been something primal. Something final.This wasn’t abo

The air in the penthouse feels heavy, too heavy to breathe. I shut the bedroom door behind me and lean against it, my chest rising and falling like I just ran miles. But it is not running that leaves me breathless. It is him. Saint.Every word from his mouth cuts deeper than the last. Every truth he refuses to give me feels like another brick in the wall he is building between us.I want to scream. I want to throw something. Instead, I walk to the window and press my palms against the glass, letting the chill bite into my skin. Los Angeles sprawls beneath me, bright and endless, but I have never felt more trapped.He says he is protecting me. That lies are the only thing keeping me alive. Maybe that is true, but tonight I cannot shake the thought that he sounds just like Vincent. And that terrifies me more than anything else.I close my eyes, willing my thoughts to slow down. But instead of calm, memories rush in. My brother’s laugh, warm and sharp. The photograph Vincent shoved into

The bag in my hands feels heavier than it should. It is only a change of clothes, my ID, a few things I cannot bear to leave behind, yet it drags at me like a stone. Maybe because I know it is not just fabric and paper I am carrying. It is the weight of another choice I did not make.Saint waits by the door, his presence filling the room the way it always does. He has changed into dark clothes, his weapon strapped under his jacket. He looks like the man everyone whispers about, the man people fear. Not the man who brushes his hand against mine when we pass in the kitchen, not the man whose voice softens when he murmurs my name at night. This is Saint Lachlan, the warlord, the son of Vincent, and he has decided I will move like another pawn in his game.“Ready?” he asks, his tone even, unreadable.Am I?No. But I nod anyway, because what choice do I have?Lucio joins us, his eyes scanning every shadow. He is the constant shadow, always there, always watching. Sometimes I wonder if he i