Melissa reached the marble-tiled corridor that led to the women’s washroom. Her heels clicked faintly on the polished floor as her thoughts screamed louder than any sound around her. She couldn’t focus. Her father’s condition, Alec’s cruelty, and the suffocating feeling of being trapped in a building where every person watched her like she was either a fallen queen or a traitor—it all weighed heavy.
She stretched her hand toward the washroom door when she heard a voice—calm but firm.
“Melissa.”
She froze.
She didn’t need to turn to recognize it. Demien.
Slowly, she turned around, her fingers dropping from the washroom handle. Her eyes met his, and for a brief second, the pain inside her spilled over—helplessness, exhaustion, and a silent plea for some miracle. Her eyes weren’t guarded
