“God, Alex. There’s nothing to fix. I’m the same unfeeling psychopath that I’ve always been, and I thought I could do this, but I just can’t. I’d rather you kill me than try to fake caring for you. It’s pathetic. And humiliating, honestly. So strap me to your torture device. Turn the dial all the way up. Do it now, and let’s end this twisted charade.”

“You’re lying.” She’s lying.

“Am I?” She levels me with unguarded eyes, her stare unflinching. “You said you were willing to risk my hating you in the end…but what about indifference?”

My hands curl into fists beneath the water. I glance over at the fall, to the cliff where we just made love, where I felt her shatter beneath me…

I seal my eyes closed as her admission pangs through my skull. Truth is a blister scraped raw. I was so eager to believe I had cured Blakely—that I had achieved the impossible—I let her manipulate me.

And I relished every indulgent moment.

“Tell me you didn’t feel anything,” I say, my voice raw. “Tell me that what happened back there, between us…that it was all just fiction. That you didn’t feel one ounce of empathy—”

“I felt nothing,” she says. Her eyes are bottomless, dead pools that chill me. “I feel absolutely nothing for you.”

“You deceived me.”

“You deceived yourself.” Blakely looks around the river. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to go for the both of us.

She’s right, of course. I knew who what she was, what she’s capable of, and I allowed her betrayal to become my truth. I wanted it to be, so desperately, I was willing to sacrifice years of research and work…everything…for just the chance to have her.

Lust. Greed. Covet—I’ve committed every deadly sin in the pursuit to own her, and I deserve my damnation.

Blakely has given up on her search. She wades to the shallow riverbank in only her shirt and panties. As she reaches the rocky beach, she says over her shoulder, “You don’t love me, Alex.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“I can, because I saw it in your eyes. When you strapped me to the gurney. When you tortured me. You’re this vile thing that can only feel when you inflict pain.” She faces me. “You once told me you took no enjoyment out of others’ suffering. You couldn’t be more wrong. You’re designed like me. And all this—” she opens her arms wide “—everything you’ve done. It’s not to rid the world of psychopaths. It’s not to avenge your sister’s ruined reputation. You did it to convince yourself that you’re not the monster.”

Chaos increases, driving up uncertainty. Loss of control over the system escalates fear. And fear triggers anger.