.
.
For the first time, Damian looked at her differentlynot with passion, but with weary trust, the kind that grows in the ashes of brokenness.
And when his gaze drifted to Emery’s door later that night, he didn’t linger with longing anymore. He looked at it with a bitterness sharp enough to cut.
.
.
The mansion no longer felt like a home. The golden chandeliers, the marble floors, the sprawling hallways—all of it had turned cold, suffocating, like a prison draped in luxury. For Emery, the silence was the worst part. Silence where Damian’s laughter used to echo. Silence where Ethan’s questions used to receive warm answers. Silence where love once bloomed.
.........
In the drawing room, Lady Knight poured herself a glass of red wine, the rich liquid glistening under the chandel
