He had rejected her, saved her from death, and now, when she was broken and helpless, he would send her away, back to the nightmare.
You should have let me die. She wanted to say it, wanted to tell him she would never forgive him for saving her only to send her away. You were supposed to be different. You were supposed to be my mate. I hate you. I hate you.
Those words never went past her thoughts, but a small moan slipped from her lips, and a single tear rolled from the corner of her closed eye. The person standing over her noticed it and clenched his fist before turning away and leaving her.
Viola had no idea how long she remained bedridden and unable to move any of her limbs or speak. What she knew was that he never came back again after that day, and her subconscious longed for his presence more than she ever would have wanted to admit or want for herself.
