Page 154 of Emylia

Tired of the pain.

Tired of surviving a life that had never once felt like mine. Like I couldn’t exist as me–I needed to be something else to be accepted.

But most of all?

I was tired of the anger.

The way it lived inside me. Clung like a second skin. It never let me go. It was a part of me—a twisted, scarred part that stained everything I touched.

Sebastian had been the one thing untouched by that darkness. The one person I thought would never lie to me.

But he had.

And something inside me broke—quietly, completely. The pain of it didn’t feel human. It felt ancient. Elemental. Like the kind of grief that should split the earth open and drag me under with it.

“You broke my trust, Sebastian.” I said his full name like it might hurt him the way he’d hurt me.

“I’m sorry.”

Two words. Small. Fragile. But there was a hollow ache in his eyes that told me he meant it.

But it didn’t stop the bleeding.

I knew him. Gods help me, I knew him. To the bone.

He wouldn’t have kept this from me unless someone had made him swear it. Sebastian would never dishonor another’s trust—not even for me. And that was the worst part. He was honorable. It was a virtue I adored about him.

A virtue I now loathed.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Say I do believe you,” I whispered. “What now?” Emotion cracked through the words, ripping them apart midair, twisting them into something broken.

“Let me explain,” he said, his voice rough, like it hurt to speak.

His jaw clenched, but when he reached for me, his touch was gentle—too gentle. He tilted my face up with one hand, waiting until our eyes locked.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

I didn’t respond.

I couldn’t even look at him.

Couldn’t breathe around the ache pressing against my ribs.

Instead, I dropped my gaze, my fingers brushing over the bare skin of my wrist—where my bracelet used to be. The color blurred. My vision swam. A tear slipped free.

Before I could wipe it away, he was there.

His hand found my cheek, and with a touch that nearly undid me, he brushed it away. So delicate it shattered something in me.

“There are some things you can’t know,” he whispered. “Things you’re not ready to hear.”

My heart stopped. My gaze snapped to his, wide with disbelief—because no. His words didn’t just cut—they pierced through the ice wall around my soul and went straight for the meaty, pumping organ in the center.

I stumbled back like he’d struck me.

Horror clenched my stomach, blanching me from his touch.

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