"Do you have any idea what this means? Dorothea’s legs are her life! One injury could ruin her balance!"
Watching him defend her like that, my chest tightened, and a bitter laugh slipped from my lips.
Sarcasm dripped from my words as I sneered, "Yes, it was me. I just can't stand her clinging to you. I wanted to ruin her! So what..."
But before I could finish, the sharp sting of a slap cut through the air.
The burn on my cheek was instant, the heat spreading quickly as my skin swelled beneath the impact. It wasn’t until the cold wind hit the wound, sending a violent shiver through me, that it truly hit me.
Charles had struck me.
The same Charles who, for seven long years, wouldn’t let me lift a finger in the kitchen or wash a single dish. The same one who had insisted on warming my feet before he’d even sleep in the coldest winters had slapped me, all for another woman.
Charles stood frozen, staring blankly at his own hand as if in disbelief at what he had just done.
But the frown on his face deepened as he muttered, "Isabella, how did you become like this?"
I met his gaze, my heart heavy with the weight of disappointment and anger.