Chapter 70

The room was silent. Too silent. The kind of silence that crept under your skin and curled around your bones. It was the kind that made your heart beat louder in your ears, that made your breath feel too sharp, too loud, too wrong. You could hear the clinking of glasses from the far end of the hall, far removed from the storm that had taken place at the center. The whispers were low but slicing—sharper than knives, more precise than bullets. Whispers never missed. Some looked at me with pity. Others smirked like I was the opening act of their favorite drama. My dress was soaked in red wine. The dark liquid clung to the fabric, cold and sticky against my skin. It dripped down slowly, trailing red onto the once-pristine white carpet beneath my heels. A scarlet storm staining innocence. Beside me, Lily’s tiny fingers tightened around mine. Her big brown eyes were wide, filled with confusion and something close to fear. She didn’t speak, but her grip said enough. I tried to breathe. But my