Silas’s words, "s**t’s about to get really dirty, love," echo in the small cabin, but they sound distant, muffled by the roar in my ears.
It’s all making sense now. The pieces of the puzzle, disjointed and confusing for months, are snapping into place with brutal clarity.
My entire life to this point, the pain, the rejection, the agonizing confusion, the poisoning—it all played out exactly as they orchestrated it. My mother. Zara. Lior. And this f*****g Vince I've heard about more times than I need to, today.
I was a puppet. A f*****g puppet.
The realization hits me with such force, such a dizzying mix of humiliation and pure, unadulterated rage, that I can’t help it.
A burst of wild, hysterical laughter rips from my throat, startlingly loud in the quiet cabin. It’s not amusement.
