Eliana stormed down the vast corridor of the Vexley estate, each step cracking against the marble like a drumbeat of defiance. The lilies arranged in tall crystal vases perfumed the air with sweetness, but the scent only made her angrier—beauty laid over a prison, elegance disguising chains. Her chest burned, her pulse racing as Rafael's voice replayed in her head, sharp and cruel. He had ripped her resignation letter to pieces right in front of her, as if her will and her freedom were nothing but scraps to be tossed aside. Worse, he had threatened her—spoken to her like she was a bird meant to stay caged, wings clipped for his comfort.
By the time she reached her bedroom, her fury had nowhere left to go. The door slammed behind her with a violent crack, shaking the frames on the walls. For a moment she just stood there, trembling, her vision blurred by the hot sting of tears she refused to let fall. Crying meant surrender, and she would not give him that.
