The small alcove felt even quieter now, like the manor itself was holding its breath. Elara stayed curled against Rowan’s chest, fingers twisted tight in the fabric of his coat. Saying even that small piece of the truth out loud had cracked something open inside her, and now she couldn’t push the memories back down. They kept rising, raw and relentless.
She kept seeing flashes of it — the way Kaelen would suddenly pull her into some dark corner without warning, the grip that left bruises she had to hide under long sleeves, the way he’d finish and just leave her there, shaking and leaking, like she was something disposable. At the time she’d convinced herself it was passion, that the intensity meant something real. Now, with the haze gone, it just felt like violation. Like her body hadn’t
