Diara stared at Kellan, her expression flat and unreadable, though inside, she was boiling. The audacity he had to speak like this, as if he hadn't been the one to banish her to the guest room in the first place. His words were like sharp, twisting daggers aimed at her sanity.
She felt disgust rise in her throat as she looked at him, barely able to keep her composure. The apology, the empty promises, all of it was a sick charade, a game he thought he could still win.
But this time, Diara wasn't the same fragile, desperate woman she had been when she first entered this miserable marriage.
She had learned.
Kellan's hand gripped her wrist, stopping her in her tracks just as she turned to leave. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, not from warmth or affection, but from the sheer revulsion she felt toward him.
The man who had used her, broken her, was now pretending as if he cared. He was playing a part, one she wasn't buying anymore.
