Lena’s POV The gala was over, but the echo of it clung to me like smoke. Back at home, the house was quiet like it never was—no clatter from the kitchen, no low hum of Dominic pacing the hall. Just silence, stretched taut over the three of us. I sat on the edge of our bed, still in the black silk dress, my hair pinned, makeup smudged where I’d cried without meaning to. The clock ticked past midnight, and I kept waiting for the words that wouldn’t come. Dominic leaned against the doorway, his jacket long discarded, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. The faint cut across his cheekbone from earlier—where Clara’s manicured nails had nearly caught him in the chaos—was a sharp reminder of how close we’d come to breaking entirely. Neither of us spoke at first. The truce between us was fragile, a thread stretched thin over months of doubt, jealousy, and half-healed wounds. But tonight, for the first time, he’d stood in front of the world and burned every bridge back to Clara. I ex
Last Updated : 2025-10-09
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