Donalds

solve, the cold, dead look in my eyes. He knew he had lost me, emotionally, i

about the past right now. You need to rest. You need to heal." He gestured vaguely aro

ords were a dull drone against the ring

out a small, velvet box. My breath hitched. What was thi

intricately carved, a delicate, almost antique piece. The silver was worn sm

vulnerability. "She wore it every day. It has her initials, intertwined with my father's

ece of him, a piece of his history, something personal and cher

difficult. But I knew you'd appreciate it. Your love for art, for history, for things that tell a story..." He looked

ul. It was personal. It was his. Was this his way of apologizing? His way of showing me he valued me, bey

inst my palm. I opened it. Inside, two faded, sepia-toned photographs. His young mother, smiling

s a hollow echo in the sterile room. I wasn't going to give him

in his eyes. A slight frown creased his

ecurity guard, stood there, looking flustered. "Mr. Winter

by the impenetrable mask of the powerful political scion. "I have to take this," he said, his voice brusque. He turned back to me, his eyes softening slightly. "I'

his duties, his 'unforgettable

He thought it would soften me. He thought it would buy him time. But all it did was

ody mending, but my spirit remained a shattered landscape. Miller, true to Camden' s word, was a constant,

he courtyard, on a lower floor. And I saw him. Multiple times a day. He would be there, sitting by her bedside, holding her hand, murmuring to

gut, a reminder of my irrelevance. He would leave her room, sometimes looking tired, sometimes looking worried, but

in my bones, cold and heavy. He was completely detached from me now. And I

ooking flustered. "Ms. Donaldson! Have you s

table. I looked. It was gone. My stomach clenched. "No,

ent earlier, she was walking around, feeling much better. She was admiring it.

She wanted to erase every trace of me from Camden' s life, even

This was not about Camden. This was about my proper

e nurse's panicked cries. "Where is she?

tammered, pointing a trembling finger down the corridor. "

ge of adrenaline propelled me forward. I didn't care about my injuries. I only cared about getting that locke

. She was laughing, a light, carefree sound that grated on my nerves. She looked up, h

her face paling. "Wh

voice dangerously soft. "The locket.

g innocence. "Locket? I don't k

a step closer, my eyes burning into

pped between us. "Ms. Donaldson, please. Ms. Vince

, my gaze never leaving Bria

A smirk played on her lips. "So what if I did? It's just a s

rrected, my voice cold.

you as a business deal, a convenience. He loves me. Always has. Always will." She took a deep breath, her eyes glittering with malic

The rage was a cold, pure forc

d it." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "Unless you're willing to go looking for it. It's in the abandoned wing of the

e me. Trying to make me look foolish. But she underestima

id, my voice flat, devoid of emotion

me. The old morgue. She thought she could break me with a little fear.

ted, corridors stretching into echoing darkness. The faint smell of decay, of old fear, clung to the air. My injuries screamed in protest with every step, but I pu

hed it open. The room was shrouded in darkness, the air heavy and still. Rows of cold, steel slabs glinted faintly in t

avy door slammed shut behind me. The sound echoed, a final, chillin

rifted from the other si

riumphant, called out. "Hope you find what you're

but it was solid, unyielding. "Brianne! Let me out of he

sts of the past. My body trembled, not just from the cold, but from a primal fear

would come back. Someone would find me. But the silence that followed was deafening,

y head intensifying. The darkness pressed in on me, a suffocating blanket. I was so tir

it just my mind playing tricks? I closed my eyes, succumbing to the overwhelming fatigue, the darkness a welcome