Despair prickled hot in his throat. He knew how deep a trauma she'd suffered at Lucifer hand. The scars were the very least of it. He knew the fear still gripped her sometimes: What if Lucifer decided he wasn't done?
She'd striven so hard to heal herself, to reclaim herself from the men who'd tried to subsume her, and now— Well, tonight had been a coincidence, pure evil luck. But what if Lucifer did decide he wasn't done?
Fuck. Fuck, it wasn't fair, she deserved to be happy.
"I know, love. I know." He leaned closer to touch his forehead to hers, capturing her tears with his thumb. "You were so brave. You were so brave, I'm—" He swallowed the rest of the sentence, and the apology that fought to get out. I'm sorry I failed. I let him hurt you. I didn't lift a finger. I didn't fight for you. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. "I love you," he whispered instead. "So much, Clio."