A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 84: Slow Compromises

Her gaze didn't drop.

"I can live with that," she continued, "Can you?"

James didn't breathe for a moment.

Then—quietly, hollowly—"Where does that leave us?"

Anastasia turned to him fully. Not with deflection. Not with coldness. She met his gaze with a calm so unflinching it almost hurt.

She smiled—softly. Sadly.

Then, slowly, she reached for his hand.

James froze.

It was small, the gesture. Delicate. Fingertips brushing the top of his knuckles, her palm fitting over his like it was something breakable.

And it struck him, sharply, stupidly: she had never done that before. Never reached for him first.

Not once.

Not like this.

"I'm really grateful for you," she said quietly.

James blinked, heart tightening.

"You've helped me so much this past year. More than I probably deserved. You made me see myself... even when I couldn't. And I'll always be grateful for that."

She glanced down at their hands, at the quiet knot they made. Then she added, even more gently, "But there's nothing else you can do for me now."

And just like that, she began to pull away.

But James grabbed her wrist.

Not roughly. But firm. Steady.

Her eyes met his.

"See?" he said, and his voice broke around the edges, thick with something he hadn't named yet. "You're still planning an exit."

His thumb pressed against her pulse, almost like he was checking to see if she was still there.

"I told you," he said, more urgently now, "I told you, you wouldn't even give me the chance to resent you."

Anastasia didn't flinch. She looked at him for a long moment.

And then, softly—"And is that a bad thing?"

He couldn't answer.

She lifted her other hand and gently wrapped it over his. Held it there. Not to reassure. Not to soothe.

Just to acknowledge the weight between them.

"I'll keep the mirror," she said. "I won't be scared to use it if I need to speak with you."

Her voice was steadier now. Clearer.

"I won't be scared to ask for help anymore."

Her gaze stayed fixed on his, unwavering. "I'll be alright, James. You have to trust me on this."

A pause.

Then, lower—almost like a confession—

"I did as you asked," she said. "I thought about you once every day."

The breath left his lungs like a punch.

Her tone wasn't romantic. It wasn't desperate. It was just honest.

Plain. Undeniable.

"I'll always have a part that he hasn't touched," she added. "That's the part that remembers you."

James swallowed hard.

He wasn't used to this version of her. This unflinching steadiness. The way she held the truth like a blade that no longer frightened her.