* Lawrence *
The storm made everything louder. Every word. Every scream. Every tear. It beat against the world like it wanted in, into the walls, into our bones, into the twisted spaces between what we said and what we meant. And it echoed inside my skull like a war drum, a rhythm of rage that had gone too long unheard. Unchecked. Unanswered.
Now, it was loose.
And so was I.
I watched the house unravel in front of me, like it was made of paper and old lies. Fragile things pretending to be sturdy. My men were the wind, flipping cushions, slamming open cabinets, dragging drawers out like intestines.
"Keep going," I barked. "Tear it apart."
And they did.
Because I wasn't here for sympathy. I wasn't here for apologies or explanations. I was here for retribution.
The pink diamond ring.
