Nayla raked her fingers through her hair, pulling the strands until her scalp stung. It felt like a physical release for a rage that had nowhere else to go. Everyone was talking, everyone was guessing, everyone was commenting, while she hadn't even finished gathering the shattered pieces of herself.
Nayla’s lips trembled. A faint ache rose in the back of her throat, but she forced it down. Crying felt futile now. The world didn't care for tears, it only cared for headlines that sold.
“Did something happen?” Damian’s voice drifted from the living area, calm as ever, as if nothing had changed. As if the storm ravaging Nayla was merely a light drizzle to his ears.
Nayla turned sharply. “Yes. And it’s because of you.”
Damian stopped a few paces away. His eyes narrowed, reading Nayla’s body
