MIREYA’S POV
*One week after the battle on Catherine’s island.*
I’d spent so long on high alert, constantly looking over my shoulder, holding my breath, biting my tongue, that peace—the unfamiliar absence of constant adrenaline flooding my veins and constricting my lungs—felt a lot like emptiness.
Every time this feeling crept in, which was every waking moment, a fresh wave of guilt crashed over me.
Seraphina and Kieran had saved me from a torturous existence; they’d given me something resembling a home. They’d even managed to give me closure concerning Olivia, and I was eternally grateful.
But despite all that, the only thing I could focus on, what consumed my thoughts, was the Damian-shaped hole in my chest.
If there were ever a more apt example of Stockholm syndrome, it would be me.
Damian had stolen me from my home; he’d held me captive and punished me if I breathed wrong; he’d treated me like a piece of furniture to be bartered away.
Yet.
