I should’ve known it wouldn’t be over that easily.
I should’ve known Asher wouldn’t just let me walk away after what I did.
Because Asher had spent years breaking me, shaping me into something fragile, something easily shattered. He didn’t know how to handle me when I fought back.
So he did what he’d always done.
He made me suffer.
⸻
The first time, it was subtle.
A calculated move.
I walked into the packhouse two days after the truth came out, my chin high, my spine straight, refusing to let them see the fear gnawing at my insides.
And then I saw it.
My room.
Or what was left of it.
The door hung off its hinges, my mattress torn apart, my clothes dumped onto the floor in a shredded mess. My desk had been overturned, my journals ripped apart, pages scattered like confetti.
At
