Her most private belongings had been tossed into a communal wardrobe, forced to mingle with the scents of the household help.
In contrast, Victoria had been granted the territorial codes—password and facial recognition—treating the villa like her own private hunting ground. She possessed a grand bedchamber and a separate makeup room, while the servants bowed to her as if she were the True Luna. To any outsider, Victoria was the mistress of the house, while Thea was merely the omega—a stray tolerated at the edge of the fire.
Thea looked at the furniture that bore witness to her days of forced submission and shattered it all.
Heirloom paintings, crystalline ornaments, and magnificent murals—nothing was spared from her cleansing fury. Soon, the sanctuary was a landscape of jagged shards an
