The rain had not stopped since Adriana walked away.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of her bedroom window, the storm outside a mirror to the storm inside her. Lightning cracked over the sea, illuminating her reflection—pale skin, hollowed eyes, and a mouth set in a line of quiet suffering.
She had thought leaving Damian would bring clarity. Instead, all she felt was emptiness.
Her mind replayed every second of their confrontation: the way his jaw clenched, the way his silence burned worse than any shouted words. She had wanted him to fight for her, to break through her father’s chains, through Isabella’s lies. But he hadn’t. He had let her walk away.
Her chest ached with guilt. Not just for loving him, but for hating him in that moment. For doubting him when she knew he
