At first, I was furious.
The kind of fury that made my hands shake and my vision blur, the kind of fury that had me pacing the room like a caged animal, every step sharp and restless. I yanked open drawers, shoved clothes aside, my thoughts racing faster than my body could keep up.
I should just leave.
Grab my stuff and just... go!
That was the first thought that formed. I should pack my things, walk out of this house, out of Polaris, and never look back. It would be easier that way. Cleaner. I wouldn’t have to look at him and wonder which moments were real and which were shaped by a bond I never agreed to have in the first place.
My fingers curled around a folded shirt—and then tightened.
No.
That was not enough.
Then anger surged hotter, sharper. No… I wouldn’t leave, because I
