He sank back into the chair, the wood groaning under the sudden, dead weight of his collapse. His hand clawed at the fabric over his heart, fingers hooking into the fine silk as if trying to physically stitch his chest back together before his soul could leak out.
Every breath he took was a jagged, shallow tremor that rattled in his throat, echoing the sound of a man watching his entire reality crumble into fine, grey ash. The silence of the room felt predatory, pressing against his temples until the pulse there thrummed like a trapped bird.
"Go on," he choked out, the words scraping against his raw throat. He didn't look at her; he couldn't. "I want to know it all. Every godforsaken word. Don't leave a single shard of this nightmare buried."
"I will," Olivia replied.
a slight tremor ghosted through her tone—a hairline crack in the porcelain mask she wore so well. She smoothed her skirts with a slow, deliberate motion, her knuckles white against the dark fabric.
