For a while, things between Logan and Emilia felt right. She had returned, fully committed this time, and the uncertainty that once lingered between them had started to fade.
Their work together flourished. Emilia's designs merged seamlessly with Logan's craftsmanship, and their latest collaboration—a custom steel-and-silk corset—was already catching the attention of high-end clients.
But just as Logan was beginning to believe in their future, the past came knocking.
It was late in the evening when the door to the workshop slammed open. Logan turned, expecting a customer, but the moment he saw the man standing in the doorway, his stomach clenched.
Derek.
Logan's older brother. A ghost from a past he had tried to bury.
"Been a long time, little brother," Derek said, stepping inside. His presence was as imposing as ever—tall, broad-shouldered, with the same sharp jawline that Logan saw in the mirror every morning. But where Logan's eyes held quiet strength, Derek's were filled with something else. Something darker.
"What are you doing here?" Logan asked, his voice carefully controlled.
Derek smirked. "Came to check on you. Make sure you haven't completely lost your mind." His gaze flicked to Emilia, who stood frozen beside the workbench. "And I see you've got yourself a distraction."
Logan's fists clenched. "Leave her out of this."
Derek ignored him and turned to Emilia. "Did he ever tell you about our old man?"
Emilia's eyes darted to Logan, uncertainty flickering across her face. "Logan doesn't talk about his family much."
Derek let out a dry laugh. "Of course he doesn't. See, our father wasn't exactly the supportive type. He thought Logan was weak. A disgrace for choosing art over real work. And when I left town, guess who had to deal with all of it?" He gestured to himself mockingly. "The responsible son."
Logan's chest tightened, old wounds ripping open. "You didn't 'deal' with anything, Derek. You ran away just like I did."
Derek's smirk faltered. "That's not how I remember it."
The tension in the room was suffocating. Emilia looked between them, realization dawning in her expression.
"You never told me," she said softly, her voice tinged with hurt.
Logan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Because it doesn't matter. Not anymore."
Derek snorted. "Oh, it matters. It matters because you're still that same scared kid, trying to prove you're worth something. And now you've got her caught up in it."
"That's enough," Logan growled, stepping closer.
Derek held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just saying—maybe you should ask yourself if you're really cut out for this, Logan. For any of it."
Logan's jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Derek turned and walked out, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.
Emilia took a step toward Logan. "Is it true?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Did your father treat you like that?"
Logan let out a long breath, his emotions a storm inside him. "Yes."
Emilia swallowed hard. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it doesn't define me," Logan said, his voice low. "I didn't want you to see me as someone broken."
Emilia reached for his hand, her grip firm. "Logan, scars don't make you broken. They make you real."
For the first time in years, Logan felt the weight of his past loosen its grip. Emilia wasn't running. She wasn't pitying him. She was choosing him, even after knowing the worst parts of him.
But Derek's words still lingered.
Was Logan truly ready for all of this?
As he looked into Emilia's unwavering gaze, he realized something.
He didn't have to be ready.
He just had to be willing.