Sebastian Volkov's Point of View
My hands, freed from their leather gloves, hung suspended in the air for a second before falling, lifeless and empty, to my sides. The silence that followed the echo of her words wasn't simply an absence of noise; it was a physical force, dense and icy, that compressed my lungs until they hurt.
"A disposable object." "An administrative formality." "A complete disappointment."
Each phrase Gianna had uttered in that broken voice, yet one brimming with unwavering dignity, pierced me directly in the center of my chest like a point-blank shotgun blast. I felt a real crack in my chest, a dull impact that made my legs buckle. The floor of the luxurious suite seemed to tilt beneath my thousand-dollar boots, forcing me to stare at the Persian rug because holding
