The evening felt desolate, as though a firestorm had swept through, leaving behind only ash and silence. The setting sun painted the cell in hues of purple and dark red, its fading glow spilling over Rocky’s slumped figure. Shadows danced on the stone walls, mirroring the turmoil in his mind.
“She hates me?”
The words left his lips in a hollow whisper, echoing in the emptiness around him. He couldn’t believe that Liliette—his sister—had uttered those words. His crushed shoulder throbbed, the pain radiating through his body like molten iron, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.
“You don’t need me? You think I’m… horrible?”
He had muttered the words blankly, his ears ringing from the sheer force of her anger. His cheek still burned as if seared by a hot iron. He had hoped—prayed—that she would take it back, that she would apologize, but she hadn’t. She had stood firm, even as he bled from his shattered shoulder.
“Apologize to my husband. Now.”
