Modric’s POV
“Why do you act as though you hate me and then do things like this?”
Mary Ann’s question stopped me before I could stand fully.
I remained on one knee in front of her, my hand still resting lightly against her ankle. Her second shoe sat beside the first, neatly placed near the bed. The room had gone quiet around us. Greta had moved toward the medicine table, pretending not to listen, but I knew she heard every word.
Mary Ann looked down at me with tired eyes. She was still pale from the poison, and weakness softened her usual strength, but the question in her face was clear. She was not accusing me this time. She was asking because she truly did not understand.
The worst part was that I did understand.
I acted as though I hated her because hatred was simple.
Hatred allo
