'Your mother never gave up. She never stopped fighting.'
The thought twisted the knife in his chest, guilt and anger warring within him. It wasn't fair—not to Aeliana, not to himself—but it was there all the same.
The room felt suffocating, the weight of their unspoken words pressing down like a vice. His mind churned, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He wanted to hold her, to tell her it wasn't her fault, that he would keep fighting for her. But he also wanted to shake her, to demand she take responsibility for her own life, to stop making him carry the burden alone.
"Sigh…."
The Duke exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging for the briefest of moments as he reined in the chaos of his thoughts. His gaze drifted downward, a fleeting expression of something unspoken crossing his face. But when he raised his eyes to meet Aeliana's once more, they were steeled again—cold, commanding, every inch the authoritative figure she had grown to resent.
