He met her eyes. She could not look away. For the first time, she didn’t want to.

“You don’t have to admit it, Céline. Just know that I know. You’re not alone in that.”

He saw her; he understood. It was as if a muscle she’d been clenching her entire life finally released.

“A deal’s a deal, though,” he said. “Even if you got more than you bargained for. Stephen is all yours—assuming that’s still what you want?”

“How exactly would you make that happen?” she asked, clear now on what Valentine was capable of. “You wouldn’t … you wouldn’t hurt him, would you?”

Valentine looked disappointed in her. “Stephen is my closest friend, my most trusted lieutenant. The fact that you could even ask that makes me question your loyalty, Céline. Do you want me questioning your loyalty?”

She shook her head.

Then that warm, buttery smile broke over his face again. She couldn’t tell whether this was the real Valentine breaking through or the mask dropping back over his face. “On the other hand, it would be foolish of you not to ask. And as we’ve discussed, there’s nothing foolish in you. No matter what people might think. So, your answer: no. I swear to you, on the Angel, I will cause Stephen no harm in the enactment of this agreement.”

“And no threat of harm?”

“Do you think so little of yourself that you assume a man would need to be threatened with harm before he could love you?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to: he could surely read it all over her face.

“Stephen is with the wrong woman,” Valentine told her, almost gently. “Deep down, he knows that. I’ll simply make this as clear to him as it is to us, and the rest will be as easy as falling off a cliff. You need only relax and let gravity do its work. Don’t be afraid to reach for the things you really want, Céline. It’s beneath you.”

What she really wanted …

It wasn’t too late to speak up, to save her parents.

Or she could keep her word and keep his secret. She could let her parents pay for what they’d done to her. For the lattice of scars on her skin and her heart. For the ice in her blood. If she was the kind of daughter who could consign her parents to death, then they had no one to blame but themselves.

But that didn’t mean she had to accept the entire bargain. Even if she stayed silent, she could walk away: away from Valentine, now that she knew what he was capable of. Away from Stephen, now that she knew what he thought of her. She could close the door on the past, start again. She could choose a life without pain, without suffering or fear.

But who would she be without pain?

What was strength, if not the endurance of suffering?