Chapter 21
Thealina
Stumbling back from Rafe is the first thing I do amidst my panic.
Nakedness be damned. All my anger replaces my need for dignity.
I feel sick. Dirty. A fool. How could I be so foolish.
Foolish to trust in a man I barely knew.
Clearly, I had anxiously attached myself to him.
The lack of male connection warped my worthless fucking brain into latching on to what I believed was a good man.
A safe man.
“You are no fool.”
He heard me.
I take another step back, and he takes one step forward, reaching out for me but I jerk away from his scalding touch. The ache in my throat pulses, phantom pain races along the mutilated flesh.
Although my naked body is in front of his eyes for free feasting, he keeps his gaze locked on mine. His eyes glassy and pained and panicked—swirling with pure desperation.
The conversation plays on a loop, slithering in my mind. It’s cruel and relentless. I taste bile. Sticky cold terror slides down my spine.
And what’s worse than the horror I heard is the ache of betrayal clawing beneath my ribs.
I trusted him.
I trusted he was good.
He said he would help me.
Yet he turned out to be the man who planted an idea in my husband’s head, the victim be damned.
It feels like I’ve been gutted from the inside out.
I wrap my arms around my middle and stumble, my back hitting rough stone. Rafe is on me in seconds. Both hands placed either side of my head as he crowds over me.
“Please let me explain.”
The weight of his guilt presses down, and some traitorous, desperate part of me wants to reach out and touch him, but I don’t, and I don’t want to hear him speak. Not yet. Right now, I’d rather wallow in the hurt to remember what it felt like to trust someone, only to be let down.
Again.
My chest heaves as I place my fingers firm against his lips. I risk a glance. Gods, the look on his face almost brings me to my knees. His eyes are wrecked. Like he’s the one who’s been carved open and left hollow.
It feels raw. And honest.
And I fucking hate him for it.
For making me have any concern for him when I’m the one without a fucking tongue.
Because of him!
He’s supposed to be the villain. It would be easier if he were. But he stands here, broken, like a man bleeding out—not from his wounds, but mine.
I hate him most for not letting me hate him at all.