Viviane couldn't understand the hatred in Seamus' eyes.
Those emeralds that once looked at her with tenderness now burned with something else—bitterness, doubt, and a hesitation that made her stomach twist.
He used to be simple, easy to read. Gentle when she needed comfort, fierce when she needed protection.
But now… now she could feel him slipping away and she was certain it was because of her.
Isolde.
Even the thought of that woman made her blood boil. That thief. That slut.
That centuries-old parasite who dared to trample on her dignity over and over again… wasn't she her mother? How could Mother do so?
Viviane shook her head, focused more on the matter of hand than her grim past which couldn't be changed, the last thing she could do was revenge.
Seamus had always been hers. He was supposed to walk beside her—or stay locked away if that's what it took—as long as he loved her.
