“Then it’s yours.”
Seraphina’s face lit up. She took the box, her fingers brushing his, and gave him a look of such adoration that it made Aurora’s vision swim.
That single, simple gesture did what the insults could not. It didn’t just break her; it vaporized her. It took every sacrifice, every lonely night, every desperate hope she’d harbored for three years and turned it into a public joke.
She searched Damian’s face for a trace of guilt, of apology, of anything.
There was nothing. Just indifference.
She didn’t say another word. She turned and walked away. Each step was a fresh agony. The sound of Preston’s snickering followed her, a whip against her back.
She pushed through the heavy door and back out into the cold, cleansing rain. It washed over her face, mixing with the hot tears that now flowed freely. She stumbled to her car, fumbled with the keys, and collapsed into the driver’s seat.
