Nerida's body trembled as she fought against the sensation tightening around her lungs. Her mind racing for a solution— an escape. She had always been a step ahead, always been the one in control. How could Maeve, of all people, have undone everything so easily?
She refused to accept this.
Her eyes darted toward Orin, his expression smug as he remained at Maeve's side, their hands still clasped. A sudden surge of anger gripped her—this wasn't just about power. Orin had chosen Maeve over her.
A fresh wave of rage burned through her veins, momentarily pushing back the growing weakness in her limbs. With sheer force of will, she pushed herself up onto one elbow, her breath ragged and shallow.
"You think this is over?" she hissed, her voice rasping. "You think you've won? You think you took my man?!" She tried to scream.
Maeve's expression was somber, but there was something in her eyes—pity.
Nerida wanted to scream. She had never needed anyone's pity.
