Page 142 of Scarred in Silence
But I do.
And now—I have to decide what to do with it.
* * *
* * *
I walk back up the path like I’m stepping through molasses, slow and thick and drowning in it.
The laughter feels foreign now. Distant. Like I’ve stumbled into someone else’s celebration and put on their skin to blend in.
Lucien is standing at the top of the patio steps, eyes scanning for me. When he spots me, something shifts in his stance—shoulders squared, hands flexing at his sides like he’s ready for war.
“What happened?” he murmurs as I climb the last step.
I shake my head.
“She left.”
He blinks. “Why?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Did you follow her?”
My silence is louder than any answer. His gaze sharpens.
“Astra—”
“She got into a car,” I say, voice flat. “It wasn’t hers.”
Lucien’s nostrils flare. “Who was driving?”
I don’t want to say it out loud. I don’t want the word to taste like blood on my tongue. But I do it anyway.
“Damien.”
For a second, he just stares at me.
And then it hits him.
He turns, walks to the railing, grips it hard enough I hear the wood creak under his palm. “You’re sure?”
“I got the plate. Dante ran it.”
He nods once, jaw clenched. “Of course he fucking did.”
I lean against the brick wall beside him, my heartbeat climbing in my throat. “She didn’t even say goodbye.”
He doesn’t answer.
Down below, someone starts clinking their glass for another toast. More laughter. More champagne bubbles.
I want to scream.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “Why would she go with him? Shewarnedme about him years ago.”
Lucien’s voice is cold. “Because he’s using her. The same way he used me. The same way he used everyone.”
