Bound By Vengeance
I was surrendering to myself.
For the first time in years, I stopped running from what I felt.
When I opened my eyes again, Dante was still there — steady, grounded, watching me like I was the only thing that existed.
“Breathe,” he murmured.
And I did. Slowly. Deeply. The air filled my lungs like it was the first breath I’d taken in ages.
The storm between us didn’t fade. It softened, becoming something quieter but no less powerful. I realized then that surrender didn’t mean losing myself. It meant finding the courage to be seen, to be held, to trust.
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