For a moment, I thought I saw something—his eyes softening, guilt maybe? Regret? But then he said quietly, like he was reasoning with a child, “It’s just one festival. It’s not worth crying over. I’ll be there next year, I promise.”
Next year. He didn’t even realize what he’d said. Or what it meant.
I yanked my arm free, venom dripping from my words. “Don’t bother. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Shock flickered across his face. He wasn’t used to me pulling away, to me standing up for myself. But tonight? I was done.
He reached for me again, but before he could, Vivian clung to his arm.
“I think Sis Izara’s upset because I’m taking you away from her son,” she cooed, her voice thick with fake sweetness. “She must be mad because Kallias is faking his illness, and now—”
The room tilted. Faking? My son? My Kallias?
Her words hit me like a freight train, knocking the air from my lungs. My vision blurred. My pulse roared in my ears. And before I even realized it, my hand cracked across her face.
The slap echoed through the room like a gunshot. Vivian’s head snapped to the side, and for a moment, she just stared at me, wide-eyed and stunned.