"I know you are not a mere wooden doll!" Leroy's voice cracked, laced with bitterness. "You hate your father, and yet… you don't hate me? Have you ever asked why?"
Lorraine blinked, utterly lost in his words. She couldn't grasp what he was trying to say.
His hand pressed harder on her shoulder, the grip sharp, almost violent, biting into her skin.
She had so much to say to him. So many questions, so many confessions, yet this—this—was how he chose to act after meeting the Dowager?
Nothing made sense anymore.
Her breath caught in her chest, and instinctively, she wrenched herself free of his hold.
Something was deeply wrong with him, and her heart ached for him.
His eyes… they lacked the clarity they always carried.
It was as if some dam had shattered deep within his mind, and all his carefully contained emotions were flooding out in uncontrolled torrents of anger, despair, and self-loathing.
