The white dress stayed in its box.
Unopened. Untouched.
But it poisoned the room all the same.
Elira sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the fire. Damien stood near the windows, pacing like a caged beast. Neither of them spoke. Not until the flames cracked loud enough to demand it.
“Burn it,” Damien growled. “Tonight.”
“No.” Elira’s voice was low. Cold. “Not yet.”
His head snapped toward her. “You want to keep it?”
“I want to remember exactly what he thinks I am.”
Damien crossed the room, crouched in front of her, hands cupping her knees. “You’re not his. You were never his.”
“I was alone when he found me. You left me in pieces. He glued them back together and thought that meant he owned the finished version.”
His jaw ticked. “You don’t belong to anyone.”
“I didn’t. Until
