Severin fell silent for a moment before speaking again.
"What exactly did your father do to you?" His voice was low and flat, the kind that made Isolde scoff.
"Haven't you already dug into my life? I'm sure you've seen the CCTV footage from my house—though I don't know how you managed to get your hands on tapes over a decade ago."
"You think no one in that house hated your father enough to keep evidence of his filth secretly, but was too damn scared to expose him because it'd blow back on them?"
"So you've seen the videos, haven't you? Then why bother asking?"
"A few videos aren't enough to show the full extent of what he did to you. Is it that hard to say it out loud?" Without realizing it, Isolde's hand had twisted into the fabric of Severin's shirt. Her brow furrowed, and beads of sweat the size of corn kernels formed on her forehead.
