In the luxurious room of Duke Remiro's estate, the tension was thick. The dim light spilled through the grand windows, casting long shadows over the room's ornate furnishings. Thorne sat on the edge of the plush bed, his broad shoulders slumped. Noelle stood before him, his small fists clenched and trembling.
And then the dam broke.
Noelle hit Thorne's chest, the strikes small but full of pent-up frustration and heartbreak.
"I hate you," Noelle said, his voice trembling as he hit him again. "I hate you so much."
Thorne didn't move, didn't flinch. He simply sat there, his hands gripping his knees tightly, his knuckles white.
"I'm sorry," Thorne said, his deep voice breaking. "I—Noelle, I'm so sorry."
"Sorry?" Noelle's voice rose, thick with pain. He hit him again, harder this time, tears streaming down his face. "You're sorry? That's all you can say to me? After months—no, years, Thorne! Years! Where the hell were you?"
