Eliana's grip on the phone was so tight her fingers ached, the cold glass biting into her palm as if it were the only thing keeping her from unraveling completely. Her knuckles blanched white, a silent testament to the storm raging inside her chest. The room—spacious, gilded, flawless in every way Rafael liked it—suddenly felt suffocating.
Eliana's tears had slowed, leaving faint trails cooling on her cheeks, but her body still carried the echo of her grief. Her throat burned from the sobs she'd barely managed to choke back, and when she opened her mouth, her voice came out thin, trembling, threaded with a rawness that told the truth her silence could not.
