“Seraphina…” My voice broke, my tears falling freely, no longer caring who saw. “Why… why did you leave me?”
A sharp sting tore me from my grief. A slap. Helena stood before me, her face contorted with rage.
“How dare you leave me at the altar!” she screamed. “Do you know what you’ve done to me? Everyone’s talking right now—about her! About Seraphina! And here you are, crying over a dead body!”
I stared at her, stunned. “How dare you slap me—she’s dead, Helena!”
“So what? You wanted her dead, didn’t you?” she spat, her eyes glinting.
My fury surged, and before I could stop myself, I slapped her back. The sound cracked in the air, and silence fell around us. Helena touched her cheek, horrified. “You slapped me? Dominic?”
“You started it,” I hissed, my chest heaving. “Can’t you see? I’m grieving!”
She laughed bitterly. “Grieving? For her? Didn’t you say you never cared for her? Didn’t you say she was nothing but pity, nothing but guilt? Why now, Dominic? Why cry now, when she’s dead? Don’t tell me… don’t you dare tell me… that you love her.”
Her words pierced me. Love. The word I had denied, twisted, buried under excuses. My lips parted, but no sound came. I shook my head, unable to answer.