Monday, at nine thirty in the morning,
Aveline looked at the tall walls and iron gates of the prison. She knew the world inside was different, but she still couldn't believe the man behind those gates had stolen her peace for two days and nights straight.
A car came to an abrupt stop behind them. A man in a suit greeted Alaric and handed him an envelope. "Let's go," Alaric said, holding her hand and leading her inside.
Words had been dropped between them. For two days, she had followed him quietly, complex thoughts and fears gnawing at her.
She wasn't sure what scared her more. Being misunderstood by him or being called mentally ill. So she kept her thoughts, her words, to herself.
Yet he was patient, never once doubting her, never once saying she might have imagined things.
But how long? How long could he stay that way?
She had walked away from Damien, but he had plagued the happiness she had found.
...
