Elora's pov
I really never imagined I would end up here, staring into Dominic’s eyes, watching every ounce of trust shatter in real-time. He was always unreadable, colder than a November pond, but today, all that calm went up in smoke. He looked at me like I was some rat crawling out from under his bed, like he was itching to stomp.
And there on the ground, a mess of letters. My name. Dante’s. Laid out in the tidiest little lines, neat as you please, stinking of melted wax and straight-up treachery. Meticulously written, like somebody really wanted it to look legit. Too perfect, actually. And if I didn’t know myself, I would probably buy it.
But I do know myself. And there’s no way.
Dominic, though, his whole body was strung tight. He barely kept himself from swinging. When he spoke,
