Was everything Eva said true?
The question gnawed like a worm in her chest—slow, ugly, relentless. Salviana walked down the corridor with her head held high, each step controlled, elegant, betraying none of the storm under her ribs.
Her breaths were too shallow. Her throat hurt. Her chest felt tight.
Jean Goliath followed behind her with perfect silence, not daring to speak. And Salviana silently thanked the gods for that.
If Jean had asked "Are you alright?" she would have shattered right there in the hallway.
She needed to be alone. She needed the dress off her body. She needed to sleep, to scrub the humiliation off her skin.
But of course the thoughts wouldn't leave her.
Eva's words echoed like poison:
He loves what my lips do for him.
We were intimate.
He probably visited her often, she seems confident.
Every step stabbed deeper.
She reached her chambers' door, fingers trembling against the handle—but the weight in her chest was too heavy.
