Elsa’s POV
The weight of his words presses against me like a vice, cold and unrelenting, and yet even as fury rises in my chest, a tremor of fear slithers beneath it, unwelcome, insidious. I stand there, hands clenched at my sides, and I can feel every heartbeat like a drum echoing in the space between us. He is right, every harsh word slicing through the fragile illusions I’ve built around myself, yet the sting of truth does nothing to soften the anger that burns behind my eyes. I hate him. I hate the way he looks at me now, the way his presence coils the air with control and inevitability. I hate that he can speak with certainty and authority, that his voice alone shapes the impossible edges of my life. But I cannot hate the entire truth, even if I try. The truth is that he is my mate,
