Nora closed her eyes, shoulders shaking. For the first time since he walked out of that prison, the weight of the past seemed almost real—almost manageable.
But Ethan didn't soften. He didn't step forward. He didn't even blink.
"You were blackmailed," he said slowly, tasting the words like poison. "And you expect me to… what? Believe You? Forgive you?"
"I didn't choose this," she whispered, voice trembling but steady. "I did everything I could to protect… everyone. I couldn't risk—"
"You couldn't risk me?" Ethan cut her off, voice flat, deadly. "Do you know what I risked? Seven fucking years of my life, Nora! Seven years rotting in that cell while you… you lied straight to my face."
Her breath caught. He was right. Every syllable, every accusation, dug into her chest.
"I… I never wanted this," she said, but it came out weak. Helpless.
"You never wanted this?" he repeated, stepping closer until the space between them was unbearable. "You never wanted me to suffer? To wake up every morning with nothing but my own hatred for the world? That's your idea of innocence?"
She swallowed hard. "I tried to fight it… I was trapped. They—"
"Trapped?" he laughed—bitter, hollow, terrifying. "I've been trapped in a nightmare you caused! Do you even hear yourself?"
The air thickened. The world felt smaller, narrower, as if the city, the guards, the people around them—all of it—was compressed into this single, unbearable moment.
"I'm not here for forgiveness," she said, stepping forward despite the tremor in her legs. "I'm here to fix what I can. I can help you now, Ethan. Please. Let me—"
"Don't," he hissed, cutting her off. "Don't speak. Don't touch. Don't breathe in my space. You've destroyed enough of me already. I won't let you fix anything. Not now. Not ever."
Her chest ached. Every word of his was a blade, but she stayed. She had to.
"I owe you this," she whispered, barely audible. "At least let me try."
"You owe me?" he repeated, eyes narrowing to icy slits. "No, Nora. You owe me nothing. You owe yourself nothing. But me? You owe me nothing except what's already gone. Seven years. Gone. Can you give it back, those seven years.Don't come here pretending you can repair what you shattered."
She looked down, unable to meet the storm in his eyes. And yet, in that same storm, she saw something… vulnerable. Something broken.
But Ethan wasn't letting her see it—not yet.
He turned, brushing past her, the sound of his coat snapping like a whip. The prison gates behind them felt like a faint echo of the cage he had just left. But this—this cage of hatred, rage, and betrayal—was far from over.
"I warned you once," he said, not looking back. "Don't make me regret leaving you alive in my path."
And with that, he disappeared into the waiting car, leaving her standing there—heart pounding, chest burning, and the bitter taste of unhealed wounds lingering in the cold air.