"Bastard! Jerk! You scumbag!"
Sierra stared at Veil's retreating back, cursing him silently hundreds—no, thousands—of times.
Why?
He was the one at fault, yet he acted like the victim. He completely ignored her—dismissed her—when she was the one who was terrified of being exposed. That's why she'd lashed out. But now? Now he wouldn't even acknowledge her presence.
No response. Not even a glance.
As if… she didn't exist.
The coldness in his eyes felt like a knife straight through her chest, and she couldn't understand why it hurt so much.
And then, in a moment of terrifying clarity, something struck her.
Wait… am I actually upset because of Veil?
No. No way. That's ridiculous.
Sierra frantically shook the thought from her head. She tried to rationalize the discomfort away—It's his fault, she told herself.
He used to flirt relentlessly, tease her at every opportunity. But now, he treated her like a stranger. That sudden shift was jarring—that was why she felt this way.
