My hands were bound lightly, but the thin rope cut into my skin, a constant, sharp reminder that I was trapped. Every movement sent a sting through my wrists, anchoring me to a reality I couldn’t deny. The priests guided me silently through the darkened halls of the manor’s inner chambers. Torchlight flickered along the stone walls, casting long, dancing shadows that writhed like living creatures. Each step echoed like a warning, bouncing off the vaulted ceilings and hard stone floors, until it sounded like a chorus of whispers following me, mocking me.
Fear, disbelief, and an almost unbearable anger churned in my chest. How could Reagan—the man I had begun to trust, the man I had let myself care for—stand by and allow this? My pulse thudded painfully in my ears, my stomach twisting with
