Too Late For Your Forgiveness Now

Crai

ars, then she turned her gaze to Jonathan, her voice soft and fragile. "Oh, Jonathan, please don't let Kiana upset you. My arm... it wa

a deranged aggressor. My father, ever the opportunist, nodded solemnly

un narratives like spiderwebs, trapping everyone in their lies. J

e flat, devoid of emotion. "There were no thrown objec

g her face into Jonathan's chest. "She's so mean,

ing back. His gaze, when it landed on me, was a chilling arctic blue. "That's enough, Kiana. You

ain, the hysterical, jealous woman. The realization hit me with the force of a tidal wave. All this time, I had loved a phant

my voice barely a whisper, the last shred of ho

what I saw, Kiana. And I believe Kecia. S

n? She poisoned me, Jonathan! She handed me a macaron with peanuts, knowing full wel

manufactured horror. "No! That's a lie! I didn't know! I didn

s features. But it was quickly replaced by a familiar anger. "Kiana! You just upset her! You're

you've gone too far this time. You really need to get your act to

Truly alone. The realization was a bitter pill, but also strangely li

mile spreading across my face. "G

niable. I was not just a placeholder; I was a punching bag, a conv

no m

al collateral. Done being my father

ld execute my plan. The marriage to Gage Sawyer, once a desperate

ed once, his voice gruff, to say he'd arranged for my discharge. Kecia, of course, w

p autumn air felt invigorating, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the past. I hailed a cab, giving th

an. Standing by a sleek black car, leaning against it, his

ad tightened in my stomach. What did he w

eyes, sharp and intense, locked onto the cab. He pushed off the c

driver, my voice tight with

But Jonathan was fast. He pounded on the back

" he yelled, his voic

ldn't face him. Not now. Not when I was

ving!" I pract

phone, making a call. My phone, still

him. I slumped back in my seat, a shudde

ver asked, glancing at me

I said, giving

tes. Then, my phone buzzed again.

ing. We need to talk. I kn

d to propose with. The one I had thrown

me out of love or concern. He was chasing me b

zed again. A

come to your apartment. I know where

ew about my apartment? M

control. He couldn't stand the idea of me making a decision without his inpu

ve solidifying. He wouldn'

told the driver. "T

uzzled. "Sotheby's?

is wasn't about revenge in the petty sense. It was about reclaiming my power, my agency. He thought I was obs

aking my mother's bracelet? He h

l items. But the emotional ones. My dignity. My self-worth. My future. I was going to

s about proving to myself that I was worth

ignored it. Then another. And another. He was per

uld be buying my freedom. And the price, I kne