I leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling. My mother’s words echoed in my head, her disappointment cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. She hadn’t always been this way. Once, she was kind. Gentle. But after my father’s death, that version of her disappeared.
I’d clung to Tristan because he felt like an escape. A safe place. But I’d been wrong.
His warmth, his kindness—all of it was reserved for Selene. For me, there was only indifference. Cold remarks designed to wound. He was a master at making me lose control, watching as I unraveled in front of others. And every time, he played the hero, offering his forgiveness while painting me as the problem.
I pressed my palms to my eyes, forcing back the tears. Not this time. I wouldn’t let him break me again.
An hour later, Tristan came home. I was scrolling at my phone and he was standing, looking at me, while holding a wilted bouquet of roses.
“Really?” I said flatly, eyeing the flowers disgustedly.
He rolled his eyes. “Still sulking? I got you the damn flowers, Ember. What more do you want?” He shoved them at me, the petals damp and drooping. “You’ve always wanted this, right? Stop acting like a child.”