“I’ll make it up to you, Cie,” he said, slicing the beef for me when he noticed my shaking hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you. The pack—there were so many responsibilities.”
“Why are your hands shaking?” he asked, brows furrowing in concern.
“My life in prison wasn’t easy,” I replied flatly, taking a sip of the wine. “You know, I wanted to end it all so many times. But I kept thinking of you, Marcus. And I held onto the hope that the truth would come out.” I met his gaze, swallowing hard. “I read the only letter you sent me over and over again for five years. It was the only thing that gave me hope.”
Marcus froze, the knife halting mid-cut. His eyes darkened with something unreadable. “What did they do to you?”
I hesitated.
Sometimes, I didn’t want to believe what the other prisoners had told me—that someone had paid them to make my life a living hell. That Marcus Delaver and my own parents had wanted me broken.
I had refused to believe it.
But now, I realized what a fool I had been.
Before I could answer, a furious voice cut through the kitchen.
“Why are you here?”
My father’s voice.