Ronan’s attention shifted instantly, his concern for her unmistakable. He cradled her in his arms with the kind of tenderness that once belonged to me. Adeline took full advantage of it, leaning into him like a delicate porcelain doll. My slap had left a red imprint on her pale cheek, and her eyes brimmed with artificial tears.
Watching him wipe them away so gently was a cruel reminder of what we had lost. I could still recall the younger version of him—the boy who had been kind to me, who had helped me up when I fell, who had wiped away my tears with the same gentleness he now reserved for Adeline. The realization that those moments were nothing but distant memories now, replaced by this twisted spectacle, was almost unbearable.
“Anastasia,” Ronan’s voice rang out, devoid of the warmth it once held. “Apologize to your sister.”
Lifting my chin, I straightened my posture, my resolve unshaken. “No.” My voice was firm, defiant. The sheer audacity of my refusal seemed to catch him off guard. For a brief moment, he looked as if he couldn’t quite recognize me—as if the girl who had once loved him so openly was a stranger now.