Elodie's POV
York had always thought I was the perfect Luna, gentle, quiet, and endlessly patient with his brother. I could see it in his eyes every time he looked at me, that faint glimmer of admiration he never said out loud. To him, I was the woman who kept Dante steady, the one who never argued, never made a scene, never showed the cracks forming underneath the surface. If only he knew how tired I was of being the calm one.
He stood awkwardly by the hallway door, scratching the back of his neck. "Elodie," he said softly, his tone careful, like he was approaching a wounded animal. "You're… you've always been good to him. My brother's just… stubborn. He'll realize what you mean to him someday."
I forced a small smile, even though my chest ached. "Maybe," I whispered, though even I did
