She finally understood—it wasn't simply that her husband had betrayed her. No, it was far worse. It was that she had allowed herself to be betrayed.
She had chosen it and fed it with her ego until it bloomed into the hand now choking her throat. The secrets she kept, the deals she had made, the lies she told—they didn't protect her. They destroyed everything she could have built. Her future. Her children. Her name.
She had clung to the past like it was a lifeline, when it was the very dagger around her throat. It had grown like poison, and now it threatened to destroy her family, her authority and even her identity.
And there was no one left to blame.
Not her husband, crumbling beneath his own shame and weakness.
Not Julian, the boy who had looked into her and seen exactly where to twist the knife.
And not Alden or Regina, those shadows of her failures.
This was hers.
