“You’re pathetic... pathetic…”
Each word struck harder than the slap itself.
How could she say that?
This was the same Celeste Hartwell who used to stand up for me in school, fists on her hips, forcing bullies to apologize when they mocked my grades.
After we married, she became even more protective—once, when she scraped her fingertip, I’d tried to bandage it, but she’d insisted on holding my hand and blowing on my finger instead.
I used to believe her love would last forever.
That we would last forever.
“Celeste…” I murmured, my voice hoarse.
She spun around, eyes wide, a flicker of hope sparking in them.
I tried to stand, but collapsed hard onto the floor.
Pain radiated from my chest, and Alden’s mutilated body flashed before my eyes once more.
Clutching my shirt, I looked up—just as the door creaked open.
Damien.
He hadn’t left after all.
He stood in the doorway, peeking through the crack. His eyes locked onto mine, lips curling into a smirk. Then he raised a finger to his mouth:
Shhh.
“What were you about to say?” Celeste asked, still watching me.
I hesitated.
She stepped closer.
“Say it. You must have something to tell me.”
“Sir?” Damien called out from the hallway, tone light.