With how often this pattern repeated over the years, I knew I shouldn't have felt hurt anymore. I shouldn't have taken it to heart. But I still did.
I resented him. I hated him. For the pain, for the fact that even now, after everything, he still regarded me as nothing but an outcast.
It was inconceivable that my own sister had almost slept with my fiancé mere hours before our marriage… the man he had personally chosen for me. Yet he expected me to stay silent and walk calmly into that marriage?
To pretend nothing happened? Just like the night of my supposed engagement to Bruce, when he treated me as though I were the nuisance ruining his perfect plans.
How heartless of him?
A shiver of cold hatred rippled through me…hatred not just for their betrayal, but for the twisted moral compass my father carried so proudly.
I glanced at Bruce, but his gaze was locked in a silent battle of Wills with Oswald—sharp, unyielding and territorial.
