I cut the line before he could answer—before he could say anything else that might break what little remained of me.
For thirty years, that man had been the center of my world.
We grew up together in the organization, trained side by side, survived bloodshed and betrayal under the same banner. Everyone knew my loyalty to him was absolute. I stayed through every hardship, every sacrifice, even when my feelings were never returned—when his heart belonged to Selindra.
And when she left, when he was broken, I stepped in.
I gave him everything.
We built a life together. A family. Ashley.
We had known each other since childhood. Partnered in our first operation in our twenties. Became bound by marriage not long after. And at twenty-nine, I gave birth to our daughter.
Now she was gone.
For three decades, I never looked at another man. For three decades, I gave him my youth, my devotion, my silence. I believed that one day, I would truly matter to him.
But I was wrong.
In his world, I was never the first choice—only the convenient one.
He was always the one admired, the one respected. I learned to stay quiet, to endure, to give without asking. Even as his wife, even as the mother of his child, I never demanded more than what he was willing to give.
I handled everything—his needs, the household, the responsibilities—without complaint. I never wanted to provoke his anger or disappointment.
But this time… I couldn’t do it alone.
The fever had left me weak. I trusted him to bring Ashley home.
And because of Selindra… he failed.
Ashley paid the price.
She was only six. Six years old, with her whole life ahead of her. I couldn’t stop imagining her final moments—alone, afraid, calling for someone who never came.
I stayed at her grave until my tears ran dry, until there was nothing left inside me. When I finally stood, I felt empty—like everything that once made me human had been buried with her.
Not long after, I saw them.
Thorian walked through the estate grounds, Selindra beside him. She held an urn close to her chest, her expression fragile, almost pitiful. He looked at her with a softness I had never truly received—gentle, protective.
“Thorian,” she said quietly, “this place is peaceful. The air, the quiet… Danny would have liked it here.”
For a moment, something flickered across his face. But the instant his eyes landed on me, it vanished—replaced by something colder.