The words hovered between them, honed and deliberate—meant to carve into the oldest wounds of abandonment.
But Eliana didn't bleed.
Her full lips curved—not in pain, not in heartbreak—but in something controlled. Measured. A calm smile that barely concealed the righteous fury simmering beneath her skin.
For her father lying motionless in a hospital bed because of this woman's greed.
For Rafael, who had survived poisons, staged "accidents," and whispered death sentences disguised as business decisions.
For the years of manipulation, the lies stitched so tightly into her childhood that she once mistook them for love.
That girl—the one who cried in her room and blamed herself—was gone.
What stood here now was deliberate.
Self-aware.
Dangerous in her restraint.
