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We stayed until the film ended with our hands linked between us and my head resting on his shoulder. The desire remained, warm and unresolved, but so did the certainty that neither the bond nor my mother would decide what happened between us.

No ritual. No grand declaration. Just bad cinema, shared grief, badly behaved magic, and the first glimpse of a future neither of us was brave enough to name.

“I was an asshole,” he said later that night, back in his apartment, lying on his couch with his head in my lap while I ran my fingers through his hair. “She didn’t deserve that. No one deserves to be spoken to that way.”

“You didn’t deserve to be cursed for a year,” I countered. “She’s a High Priestess. She’s supposed to be better than that.”

“She’s supposed to be,” he agreed. “But she’s not. She’s just... powerful. And angry. And used to getting her way.”

I thought about that. About power and anger and the way my mother wielded both like weapons. About the cost of crossing her. About the cost of loving the man she’d cursed.

The research I’d done said true love could expose the curse and weaken its hold. But the love had to be mutual. Real. A choice, not just fate. Even then, the anchor would fight to survive.

Every night I spent with Logan, every conversation, every moment of connection was building toward that. I could feel it. The bond humming between us, growing stronger, more insistent.

But I was afraid.

Afraid of what it meant to choose him. Afraid of what my mother would do. Afraid that I wasn’t brave enough to be the woman Logan deserved. The one who’d stand up to a High Priestess and win.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, looking up at me with those green eyes that saw too much.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“About how complicated this is. How impossible.” I traced the line of his jaw, marveling at the way he leaned into my touch. “About whether I’m strong enough to do what needs to be done.”

He sat up, turning to face me. “You don’t have to do anything, Carolina. I’m not asking you to fight your mother. I’m not asking you to choose between us.”

“But I do have to choose,” I said, the truth crystallizing as I spoke. “That’s the thing, Logan. I’ve been trying to have both, you and her, along with love and duty, rebellion and safety. But I can’t. Not anymore.”

“What are you saying?”

I looked at him, really looked, and saw the man beneath the curse. The kind, brave, broken man who’d suffered for a year and still found it in himself to care about me.

“I’m saying I’m going to confront her. Demand she lift the curse. And if she refuses...” I took a breath. “Then I’m going to find another way. Because I’m done watching you suffer. I’m done being the daughter of a monster.”

He stared at me, his eyes wide and wet. “Carolina...”

“I love you,” I said. The words came out rushed, terrified, true. “I know it’s fast. I know it’s the bond. But I also know it’s real. I love you, Logan Richards. Curse and all.”

His mouth found mine.

The kiss carried none of the restraint we had fought for on the couch or at the drive-in. It was deep, sure, and full of everything we had been too frightened to name. His hands framed my face while I gripped his shirt and pulled him closer.

The bond flared between us like a star igniting, bright and warm and unstoppable. I wanted more. I wanted everything Logan Richards had to give me, but more than that, I wanted every tomorrow that might follow.

When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard, and magic swirled through the air around us.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “I have since the alley. Maybe since the bar. Maybe since before I ever saw you.”

I rested my forehead against his, my heart full and breaking at the same time. “Then we’ll figure this out. Together.”

But even as I said it, I knew what was coming. My mother wouldn’t let this stand. She’d escalate. She’d punish us both.

And I was right.

The curse intensified three days later.