The white dress haunted her.
Elira sat on the edge of the bed, the box still unopened beside her, though she already knew what lay inside. She didn’t need to see it again. The fabric was burned into her mind. The memories that came with it even more so.
Golderdy.
The man who had offered her calm when Damien brought fire. A man who picked her up when she had nothing but broken bones and shattered trust. A man who smiled like salvation and kissed like control.
Damien stood at the window, shirtless, jaw clenched, watching the night bleed into dawn.
“You’re quiet,” he said.
Elira didn’t answer immediately.
“I used to wear that dress on Sundays,” she whispered. “He made tea. Played records. I thought he was peace.”
Damien turned, rage burning behind his eyes. “He was power dressed as pe
