Katrina’s POV
The silence was worse than the shouting.
After dinner, after everything—the necklace, my defiance, the way his eyes had burned like fire as I hurled it back at him—I expected Damon to storm into my room, drag me by the throat, or lash out with that brutal temper he wielded like a weapon.
But he didn’t.
He left.
No slammed door. No thunder in his voice. He didn't even come out for dinner. It was just silence, cold and deliberate, like the sharp edge of a knife pressed against skin but not cutting.
I paced the length of my room, the necklace lying abandoned on the rug like a corpse. My chest still rose and fell too fast, but not from fear—no, it was something uglier, a blend of fury and the ache that came from realizing my heart had betrayed me.
I had started to believe
