Sierra hadn’t been able to breathe properly since the day she had walked in on Kellan and Isolde. It had only been a few days, but the pain still clawed at her, gnawing at her from the inside. She hadn’t asked for any of this.
The life she had once dreamed of, the future she thought she’d have with Kellan, none of it existed anymore. But the real weight of her reality was settling in as her mother dragged her through the halls of Bloodveil, urging her to move faster, to make peace, to do what needed to be done.
“Enough sulking, Sierra,” her mother had insisted earlier, her voice sharp with an edge that only a Bloodveil could carry. “You need to face Kellan. Reconciliation training, now. It’s time you stop running away.”
Sierra felt the weight of her mother’s words press down on her chest as they walked. But it wasn’t the thought of seeing Kellan again that terrified her. It was the thought of having to be near him, to pretend like nothing had changed, to force herself into a situation where the raw wound she carried could only bleed more. Her heart still ached from the memory of walking in on Kellan and Isolde, the confusion and heartbreak too fresh to be ignored.
She had no choice but to follow, though. There was no escaping this. No running from the truth anymore. Her mother would never let her live it down if she didn’t do as asked, if she didn’t try to fix things with Kellan.
As they entered the room, Sierra’s gaze immediately landed on him. Kellan was standing by the window, his back turned to her, his posture stiff. He looked the same, but somehow he felt different. He wasn’t the man she had loved; he wasn’t the person she had given her heart to. And now, she realized, that was never going to change.
Her mother made some empty comment to him, her voice polite but hollow, before turning to Sierra and gesturing for her to step forward.
“Go on, Sierra. Talk to him.”
Sierra felt the blood rush to her face, the pressure mounting on her chest. She couldn’t breathe. The words her mother had spoken were a distant hum in her ears, lost to the thick air in the room.
Her eyes fell to the floor, focusing on the ground in front of her as she approached Kellan. Every step felt like it was made of stone. Every move, like it belonged to someone else, someone who wasn’t her.
Kellan turned slowly, the cool, indifferent look in his eyes now feeling like a dagger pressed into her skin.
“Sierra,” he said, his voice flat, lacking warmth. There was no apology in his tone. No remorse. Just cold, quiet indifference. His hands were still raised slightly, as if he were unsure how to handle this whole situation.
And that’s when it happened.
Kellan reached out, his fingers closing around her wrist with a tight, almost painful grip. Sierra flinched, the touch too familiar, too invasive. Her heart raced, and her breath caught in her throat. Her mind screamed at her to pull away, to tell him to stop, but her body was frozen in place. The touch wasn’t a loving one—it was possessive, forceful. It was a reminder of everything he had taken from her.
Her wrist throbbed where his fingers pressed down, and the memory of Isolde flooded her thoughts. The sight of them together. The anger that rose within her made it hard to breathe. The betrayal, the hurt, everything boiled up to the surface.
She pulled her wrist away with a sharp, sudden movement, her heart pounding.
“Don’t touch me,” she whispered, but it felt like the words had been ripped from her. She couldn’t face him. Couldn’t stand being in the same room as him. It wasn’t just that he had hurt her—it was that he had broken the very idea of who she thought he was.
Her mother’s voice was distant, a harsh reprimand meant to keep Sierra from running. But Sierra couldn’t stay. The pain was too much. The room felt suffocating, and she turned to leave, not even caring that her mother was calling after her, demanding that she return to resolve whatever this was. The only thing that mattered was getting away from the weight of the moment. From the memory of Kellan’s touch, the touch that now only felt like a chain around her neck.
She burst into the hall, her heart racing as she rushed through the corridors, away from the pain, away from him. She needed air. She needed freedom. But the only thing she was certain of was the need to escape—escape from the world she had known, the one that had betrayed her so easily.
And then, as if fate itself had decided to intervene, she turned a corner and saw him.
Rowan.
He was standing there, his presence cutting through the air like a storm in the distance. He was calm, but there was something in the way his eyes flicked over her that made her heart stop. He had been waiting for her. And he had seen it all.
His gaze softened just slightly when he saw the look on her face, the pain still written across it. He didn’t say anything at first, didn’t move. But when she stepped closer, trying to catch her breath, he spoke.
“He touches you again, I break every bone in his hand,” Rowan said, his voice low but firm.