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She didn’t reply. She simply turned slightly away from me and looked sadly at the wall.

“Have you forgotten that I’ve seen it with my own eyes? Have you forgotten I was there that night when—”

“Gabriella, enough!” she barked at me.

But I was going to piss her off more. Because there was a question I needed to ask. An answer I needed to know.

Because last time I had fucked up this badly… well, there were some wounds that cut deeper when they couldn’t be seen.

I swallowed, my throat tightening slightly as I forced the words out. “Did he… Did he let them…?”

“No,” she cut in quickly, before I could finish the question. “No. Not this time.”

The relief that hit me then made my knees weak. My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

“For what?”

“For… all of it.” I gestured vaguely, the movement small, like even acknowledging it properly might make it worse. “For you being stuck here. For me not—”

“Don’t,” she said firmly, and the strength in her voice surprised me enough that I looked up properly.

Her eyes were on me now, sharper than they had been all day.

“Do not take responsibility for this,” she said. “Not now. Not ever.”

“Mum—”

“No,” she shook her head, pushing herself forward slightly in her chair despite the obvious discomfort it caused her. “You have spent years doing that. Years putting your life on hold, making yourself smaller, making yourself…less, just to keep me safe.” Her voice wavered slightly then, but she didn’t stop. “I won’t let you do it again.”

My chest tightened.

“That’s not what this is.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked gently. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks exactly the same. You shouldn’t fucking be here! You should have left years ago. With him!”

I winced, knowing who she was talking about.

“But it’s not too late, Gabby. You can go. Forget about me and this place. I can handle what’s coming. I can’t handle knowing you’re slowly destroying yourself.”

I looked away from her, letting her words wash over me.

I couldn’t answer her, because everything she said was true. I had made her safety my priority since Dad died. I had put my life on hold the second Nico became president. All my plans went out the window. She became my focus.

I had let Vienna leave years ago to keep him safe, but as soon as Nico arrived, I wanted to go to him. I would have explained everything. I would have got to my knees and apologised for all the years between us, explained what my dad made me do, and what Nico was planning.

And then Nico had my mother abused by every member of this club—a way to show that she was no longer the treasured old lady of the president, and instead demoted to something not even worth a shred of respect.

So I stayed. Because I knew that if I gave my life to Nico, it would keep her safe.

And we both understood that.

“If I leave,” I said eventually, my voice quieter now, “he’ll take it out on you.”

“He already does,” she said the words without emotion, without hesitation, just a sad, resigned truth.

My head snapped back toward her. “He doesn’t hurt you like he could. Like he wants to. Things could be so much worse for you.”