Chapter 33: Rough Proof

Caden's lips crashed onto hers like a storm. There was no tenderness only fire, fierce and unforgiving, as if trying to burn away every word, every scream, every crack in their shattered trust. His mouth was rough, demanding, claiming, and Amara's first instinct was to shove him away.

"Get off me!" she yelled, voice raw with rage and fear, pushing at his chest with every ounce of strength she had.

But Caden's hands were already roaming, harsh and urgent, gripping her shoulders, sliding down her arms. His fingers tangled in the hem of her shirt, yanking it upward roughly.

"Stop!" Amara shouted, struggling beneath his weight, eyes blazing. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

He pulled back just enough to glare at her, dark and wild, pupils blown wide like a man drowning in his own demons.

Caden's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might snap. "Don't twist this, Amara. You said I don't show anything. Well, here it is. Raw. No filters."

She shoved him again, harder this time, her voice rising. "I didn't ask for this. I wanted honesty, not some drunken, messed-up tantrum!"

"Oh, come on!" he snapped, voice slurred slightly. "You push and push, test every limit and when I finally snap, you act like the victim?"

Amara's eyes flared, her breath ragged. "You think this is strength? You think being cruel and reckless makes you a man?"

He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. "I don't even know what I am anymore, Amara. But you, you make me feel like I'm constantly failing at everything."

"Then leave!" she screamed. "If you don't know who you are, don't try to find it by tearing me down!"

Caden staggered back a step, as if her words physically struck him. His face twisted, some of the fury in his eyes giving way to something haunted. "I didn't come here to hurt you."

"Too late," she said coldly. "You already have."

He exhaled shakily, the fire in him flickering like a candle on its last breath. "I thought… I thought if I could just feel something real, we could"

"This?" she cut in sharply. "This is not real, Caden. This is you spiraling. This is you drowning and trying to pull me under with you."

He stared at her, chest heaving. "I don't know how to fix it…"

"Then don't touch me until you do."

Caden's laugh grew crueler. "But I want to. I need to." His hand fisted the hem of her shirt and yanked it over her head in one harsh pull, leaving her in the thin nightdress she wore beneath—soft, simple, and far too revealing for his spiraling mind.

The sight of her like this, vulnerable and beautiful, made something twist in him. His hands hovered for a moment, trembled, then landed on her skin like fire—rough and possessive, tracing down her sides as goosebumps bloomed beneath his touch.

"You're not some prize on a pedestal, Amara." His voice dropped to a jagged whisper, face inches from hers. "You're mine damn it."

She tried to wriggle free, but his grip only hardened. "I'm not yours," she snapped. "You're drunk. You're not thinking straight."

He smirked darkly, eyes flicking over her frame. "Beautiful, yeah… but these measurements?" He gave a slow, teasing squeeze, rough fingers tracing the curve of her waist. "A bit small for my hands. Guess I'll have to help you grow into them make them a little more… handful."

Amara froze, breath catching. "What?"

He leaned in closer, chest heaving against hers. "You smiled at him like he was your safe place. Laughed like he'd never hurt you. You never look at me like that anymore."

"That's not" she started, but he cut her off.

"I saw the way he looked at you too. Like you were something fragile, something he could save." His mouth curled into a bitter smirk. "Do you want saving, Amara? Is that what you want from me? Or would you rather I pretend I didn't notice how you twirled your hair while talking to him?"

"I didn't" She tried again, but her voice was too thin, too shaken to argue.

His hands traveled down her sides again, this time slower, more deliberate. "You wore this for bed?" he muttered, fingers brushing the hem of the nightdress. "Looks like you were expecting someone to notice."

He let his voice drop to a low, teasing growl. "Did you think Elias would see this and forget I exist? Or maybe you wanted him to see wanted to make him jealous."

A crooked smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes burned with something sharper—hurt and possessiveness tangled together. "Funny… I'm the one standing here, and yet you dress like you're waiting for someone else's touch."

Her cheeks flushed, half from rage, half from the tension that hung heavy between them. "That's not fair."

Caden gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "No. But I never said I played fair, did I?"

His eyes roamed her figure, lingering just long enough to make her skin crawl. "Cute," he said, almost to himself. "A bit more hand-full would've been nice… but you know, with time… I can live with this."

Amara's jaw clenched, her voice sharp and cutting. "Don't you dare talk about me like I'm some damn project for you to shape. I'm not here for you to fix, or control, or change."

She shoved against him with everything she had. "If you think you own me, think again."

He leaned in, voice a dangerous purr brushing her ear. "Too late. You already let me break you once. You think I don't remember how you sounded the first time I touched you?"

She stiffened, pushing hard against his chest. "You're disgusting right now. This isn't you."

"It's all of me," he hissed. "The jealousy, the need, the fucking desperation. It's all real. Every inch of it."

His hands gripped her hips—no longer cruel, but firm, possessive, like he was trying to hold onto something slipping away. "You think Elias knows what this feels like? What it means to fight for you?"

Her eyes blazed. "I'm not some trophy to win or a prize to fight over."

"No," he said quietly, voice low, almost broken. "But you're still the only thing I ever wanted."

She searched his face, seeing for the first time the raw heartbreak buried beneath his fury and the haze of alcohol.

"Caden…" she started, voice softening, almost a whisper.

He flinched away, like her words cut him deep. "Don't," he muttered. "Don't look at me like that. Like you pity me. I'd rather you hate me."

Amara's breath hitched. "I don't hate you. But this" she gestured between them "this isn't love. Not like it should be."

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. "It's the closest I've got. Maybe I'm a bastard, but I'm the only one here fighting."

She shook her head, fury rising again. "You call forcing yourself on me fighting? You call taking what I didn't give you 'love'?"

His eyes snapped open, blazing with desperation and fury. "I don't know any other way. I want you—need you. Every damn part of me fucking wants you."

A bitter, cutting laugh slipped from her lips. "You think that gives you the right?"

"No." His voice was a savage growl, low and full of rage. "But I don't give a damn about right or wrong anymore. I'm here because you're all I have left."

His hands gripped her hips like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart, nails digging into her skin, possession burning through his veins.

She shoved him back, tears streaming, voice shaking but fierce. "Then prove it without breaking me."

His jaw snapped shut so hard it looked like it might crack. "Don't tell me what to do. Don't you ever tell me to stop."

"Maybe I'm a mess. Maybe I'm twisted. But I'm not weak. And I'm not giving you up—not now, not ever."

He stepped closer, eyes wild and burning with a desperate fire. "You want proof? Then fight me. Fight me because I'm the only one still here. The only one still willing to burn it all down for you."

His voice dropped to a rough whisper, dark and dangerous. "So don't back away. Don't run. Because this is what it means to want someone so badly it hurts."