“You want me to admit I was wrong, don’t you?”
Elena stood in front of Zeyan, still having to brace one hand against the edge of the table to keep her balance. The pain behind her knee made her leg tremble faintly, her slapped cheek burned, and every time she opened her mouth she could still taste the faint metallic trace of blood at the corner of her lips.
Reginald looked at his daughter, the cane in his hand suspended in midair.
He had been waiting to hear those words since the interrogation began, because in his mind, as long as Elena was willing to lower her head and admit that she had crossed the line, everything could still be settled according to the family’s rules.
Elena drew a deep breath, her voice lowering.
“Fine. I was wrong.”
Zeyan immediately looked at her.
She did not
