Yakirah’s hand shot out and closed around Daemon’s wrist just as he turned toward the side door of the house.
The contact was sharp, almost violent. He stopped mid-step. For a moment neither of them moved. The late-afternoon light cut across the driveway, painting long shadows between them.
“I hate you,” she said, voice low and shaking. “I hate you for ruining my family. For walking in and taking everything that was supposed to stay broken in a way I could understand. You didn’t just marry her…you erased the version of us that existed before you.”
Hurt flickered across Daemon’s face. It was brief, unmistakable, and gone almost as soon as it appeared.
His eyes narrowed, then flattened again. He did not pull his wrist free. He simply looked at her for three long seconds, as if memorizi
