I don't know how long I lay there. Just when I felt I could endure no more, a sliver of light cut through the gloom of the water dungeon.
Weston stood there—tall, composed, and dressed impeccably in a tailored suit. His cold, chiseled features were illuminated by the dim glow. For a fleeting moment, a trace of emotion flickered in his eyes as he looked at my pitiful state—something like sorrow, or perhaps regret—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"Do you understand what you did?" His voice was cold and steady, slicing through the silence.
I forced my heavy eyes open and spoke in a hoarse whisper, "I was wrong, husband."
He seemed momentarily taken aback. Perhaps he didn't expect me to surrender so easily. The air between us grew still and suffocating.
After a long pause, his low voice finally broke the silence.
"If you had admitted your mistake earlier, you wouldn't have had to suffer all this. Get along well with Patricia, and you'll still be Mrs. Holmes."
I gave a soft, obedient hum in response.
Seeing my newfound gentleness, his tone eased.
"Tomorrow is Mom's birthday banquet. Prepare yourself—we'll attend together."
"Alright," I answered quietly.