"I’m going to need some time to prepare for the next phase," Alexis said, already moving toward her equipment cabinet to gather what looked like specialized materials. "There are compounds I’ll need to acquire, calibration procedures to run, safety protocols to establish. This isn’t something we can improvise."
She paused in her preparations and glanced back at me, her expression shifting to something more businesslike. "Actually, I’ll need to leave the apartment for a few hours. Has Anthony called with any updates on the investigation?"
The question caught me off guard, partly because I’d been so focused on my resistance experiments that I’d almost forgotten about the assassination attempt that had started this whole chain of events. "No, nothing yet. I was starting to wonder what was taking so long, but..." I shrugged. "It was a group of professional, right? That kind of investigation probably takes time."
"Probably," she agreed, though something in her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced. "Well, I’ll be waiting till he tells us we can leave the apartment. The next time I call you, I’ll have everything we need for the next round of experiments. Until then try not to poison yourself."
The joke fell flat, considering what I’d just endured, but I managed a weak smile anyway. "I’ll do my best."
After I left her office, I found myself alone in the apartment just like earlier this morning. The silence felt strange after the intensity of the past hour, like stepping out of a thunderstorm into unnaturally calm air. My mouth still burned with phantom heat from the capsaicin, and my throat felt raw, but both sensations were manageable now thanks to my newly leveled resistance skills.
I wandered out of Alexis’s office and into the living room, settling onto the familiar comfort of our oversized couch. The apartment felt larger somehow with everyone else occupied elsewhere. Sienna was probably working on one of her projects, Evelyn might be training or reading, and Camille was still sleeping off whatever late-night adventure she’d been on.
I should have felt relieved. Accomplished, even. The experiment had been a complete success, proving that controlled exposure to dangerous substances could accelerate my skill development beyond anything I’d imagined possible. With Alexis’s expertise backing me up, I could potentially reach levels of resistance that would make me effectively immune to most forms of assassination attempts.
But instead of satisfaction, I felt the weight of unfinished business pressing down on my shoulders like a lead blanket.
The thought sat in my mind like a stone, heavy and unavoidable. Alexis had made it clear that revealing the truth about my experiments was my responsibility, and she was right. These women had trusted me with their lives, their futures, their hearts. They deserved to know what I’d been doing, what risks I’d been taking, and what lies I’d been telling them.
But knowing what I had to do and actually doing it were two very different things. Every time I imagined starting that conversation, my mind immediately jumped to all the ways it could go wrong. The hurt in their eyes when they realized how thoroughly I’d deceived them. The anger when they understood that I’d been systematically destroying my body while pretending everything was fine. The fear when they grasped just how close I’d come to killing myself in pursuit of these skills.
I felt like a student who’d been putting off a major assignment, watching the deadline approach with mounting dread while still hoping that somehow the problem would resolve itself without intervention. But unlike academic procrastination, this wasn’t something I could fake my way through or charm my way out of. This required honesty, raw, uncomfortable, potentially relationship-ending honesty.
The worst part was that I knew exactly who I was most afraid to face.
She’d always been the voice of caution in our group, the one who worried about the risks I took and the chances I was willing to accept in pursuit of our goals. How many times had she pulled me aside and told me that we are in this together? How many times had I looked her in the eyes and promised that I’d be more careful, that I’d think things through, that I’d keep them informed about anything that might affect our safety?
And how many times had I broken those promises?
The pattern was becoming unignorable now that I had to face it head-on. I would engage in risky behavior, face criticism for it, vow to improve, and then promptly revert to the same actions as soon as the next crisis occurred. Every time I convinced myself it was a one time thing, that this specific circumstance warranted the deceit or the risk. From Sienna’s viewpoint, it likely appears as an unending loop of shattered trust and constant betrayals.
I reclined in the couch cushions and envisioned how that discussion would unfold. Sienna’s look when I described what I had been up to. The letdown that would take the place of any warmth that had been present in her eyes. She would likely fold her arms and quietly ask me, in that tone she employed when genuinely hurt, if I hadn’t absorbed anything from all our earlier conversations about this specific issue.
What could I possibly say to that? That I was sorry? That I’d genuinely intended to keep my promises this time? That the circumstances were special enough to justify breaking my word again?
All of those things were true, but they were also exactly what I’d said every other time this pattern had played out. At what point did good intentions and special circumstances stop being valid excuses and start being evidence of a fundamental character flaw?
The thought hit me harder than I’d expected, like a physical blow to the chest that left me struggling for breath.
Maybe I wasn’t as good a partner as I’d imagined myself to be.
The realization was ugly and uncomfortable, but once it had formed in my mind, I couldn’t unsee the evidence that supported it. How many times had I put them in danger through my decisions? How many times had I kept them in the dark about things that directly affected their safety? How many times had I promised to change my behavior and then immediately reverted to the same patterns?
Yes, I loved them. Yes, I would take a bullet for any of them without hesitation. Yes, I’d moved heaven and earth to save them when they’d been kidnapped, fighting through impossible odds and risking everything to bring them home safely.
But that last point stung worse than the rest, because it highlighted the central contradiction in how I thought about our relationship. I was proud of having rescued them, of having refused to abandon them even when doing so would have been tactically sound. But the reason they’d been kidnapped in the first place was because of me. Because of enemies I’d made, conflicts I’d initiated, risks I’d chosen to take that had painted targets on all of their backs.
I’d spent so much time, unconsciously congratulating myself for being willing to sacrifice everything to save them, that I’d never really confronted the fact that they wouldn’t have needed saving if I’d been more careful about protecting them in the first place.
The heroic rescue was just cleaning up the mess I’d created through my own recklessness.
And now here I was once more, having carried out risky experiments that might have killed me, lying about it all day, and putting them in danger of losing a loved one because I had determined that my objectives outweighed their ease.
I couldn’t believe I had been oblivious to the pattern for so long when it was now so evident. I wasn’t the selfless leader I had pictured myself as, one who would shoulder any hardship in order to defend those who were important to me. I was the type of person who would frequently make decisions that endangered those same individuals, then expect them to be appreciative when I was able to resolve the issues I had caused.
That was a hard truth to swallow, but avoiding it wouldn’t make it any less real.
I sat there for several long minutes, letting the weight of that realization settle into my bones like cold concrete. It changed nothing about the situation I was in, but it shifted my perspective on what I owed them. Not just an explanation of my recent experiments, but an acknowledgment of the broader pattern those experiments represented.
They deserved better than someone who would promise to change and then immediately revert to the same destructive behavior. They deserved someone who would actually learn from his mistakes instead of just feeling guilty about them. They deserved a partner who would prioritize their wellbeing over his own ambitions, even when doing so was difficult or inconvenient.
I couldn’t retroactively become that person for all the times I’d failed them in the past. But I could start trying to become that person now, beginning with the conversation I’d been dreading.
Standing up from the couch felt like lifting a tremendous weight, but I managed it. My legs were steadier than I’d expected, my resolve firmer than it had been just minutes earlier. The truth was going to hurt—for all of us—but continuing to avoid it would only make the eventual reckoning worse.
It was time to stop being a coward about this.
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and went to find the three women who deserved to know exactly what kind of man they’d chosen to trust with their lives.
It was time to stop playing the hero and start being their partner.