Anna's room was dark, lit only by the dim flicker of candlelight.
The soft orange glow danced against the carved walls, casting long shadows that swayed like ghosts. Her reflection in the mirror was smeared and exhausted—eyeliner streaked like bruises, cheeks flushed with the sting of humiliation. The weight of the night hung on her like a second skin.
She sat motionless, dragging a cloth across her face with slow, deliberate movements, as if scrubbing away the memory of Erik's disgusted glare… Fiona's condescension… Nanny Nia's veiled accusations.
But worst of all—Xaden's silence.
That silence had cracked something in her.
He hadn't defended her. Not even a glance.
It had always been that way. Jasmine cried, Jasmine stumbled, and everyone came running. She lied, and the world believed her. She breathed, and the Alphas knelt.
And Anna?
Anna was always just there—smiling, perfect, and utterly invisible.
But not anymore.
A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.
