As the door clicked shut behind her, Lilianna slid down against it, her legs giving way beneath the weight of her emotions. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, unchecked, as the years of suppressed pain and anger spilled out. Her trembling hands covered her face, muffling the sobs.
Lilianna had always despised Lydia's methods, her relentless manipulation, and her iron grip on their lives. She remembered the countless times she had spoken up, defied Lydia's orders, and paid the price—slaps, nights locked away in the damp basement.
It wasn't love that Lydia had shown them. It had never been love. It was control—a relentless, suffocating dominance that twisted everything good into something bitter.
Lilianna had eloped with Henry four years ago in search of a life free from her aunt's tyranny. But in doing so, she had left Dylan behind, alone to bear the weight of Lydia's poison. Her chest heaved as the wave of regret washed over her.
