“Eternally,” he said, the word like a vow carved in blood. “I’ve loved you since I was nineteen... under that oak tree at the estate, when you smiled at me like I wasn’t the monster everyone said I was. You were my light, Penelope. My reason to live. I loved you through every betrayal, every lie, every night I hated you for what I thought you’d done. My heart is yours—has always been yours.”
Does he still love her?
