The wedding was done. The guests were drunk. The mansion was quiet. She sat alone in her room, veil torn off, makeup smeared, not from cryingâbut from scrubbing her face raw. As if she could erase the day. He stood in the doorway. Watching. Again. Always watching. And when he spokeâ It wasnât a whisper. It was a vow. âIf he locks you in a towerâ then Iâll be the fire that burns it down.â
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17/06/2025