Roman’s POV
The mont those words fell from her lips, silence swallowed the room. Not only Isla, but we too were left speechless. Whatever she had endured during those six years, there was little left for us to imagine, and yet none of us dared to.
All we could do was curse ourselves and bear the weight of our own guilt for her broken state.
"Eira," Isla said softly, her tone steady, "calm down."
"Calm down?" Eira’s voice was laced with venom. "I have always been calm. It’s you and those bastards who keep poking at again and again. Don’t you have anything else to do? Just get the fuck out of my life."
Her gaze burned like fire, her jaw tight with rage, her words sliced through clenched teeth. In that mont, she resembled a wounded beast, snarling at every soul that dared co near.
"You can keep showing your anger," Isla replied, unshaken. "I am here to listen. Go ahead, let it out. Every ounce of bitterness, every shard of pain you’ve buried inside—I am here to share that burden with you."
"Want to get my bitterness out?" Eira gave a dark, hollow laugh. "How about I kill you first, and then those five bastards hovering around like snakes?"
"I think this is enough for today. Next session..."
Smash!
The sudden shatter of porcelain echoed through the room as she hurled the vase from the table, splintering it into pieces across the floor. Her glare locked onto Isla, blazing with fury.
"You fucking bitch," she spat. "Did you really think that by telling a few things about Alice, you were giving sothing of worth? Go fuck yourself to know what I’ve been feeling all these years. And if you dare show your face to again, I swear your daughter won’t have a mother left in this world."
With that, she stord out of the side house, leaving only the echoes of her rage behind. Isla remained seated, calm and composed. Perhaps, as a doctor, she had faced patients far more volatile than Eira. But for us, it was different.
For us, it was Eira who was breaking apart before our very eyes. And it was her pain that tore our hearts to pieces.
Lucian moved quickly to the exit towards the side house.
Eira was coming out so of course we felt worried where she was going.
Lucian stopped at the glass wall and watched her as she ca out of the side house.
"Don’t rush her," Liam said quietly. "Let her absorb her emotions."
We remained still, watching from behind the glass. She was seething, her face darkened with fury, her fists clenched tightly as though she could crush her rage within her own hands. Her breath ca fast and heavy, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to contain the storm inside her.
We waited in tense silence, unsure what she would do next, or where she would run.
She drew in several deep breaths, her eyes darting about as though searching for a way out, so escape from herself, from us, from everything. Yet in that mont she looked not only furious, but utterly lost and undone. She was like a vessel overflowing with every extre emotion at once, incapable of carrying even a single one.
At last she turned sharply and strode toward the rear of the house, her steps quick and restless, as if the ground itself scorched her to flee faster.
Lucian rushed after her, and the rest of us followed close behind.
"She cannot leave the estate. Don’t worry," I told him, catching up. We had to shadow her, yet keep enough distance not to ignite her further.
"Thankfully she cannot take her wolf form," Lucian muttered, his jaw tight. "If she could, restraining her would be impossible. I can’t lose her this ti."
Not only he, but none of us could bear the thought of losing her again.
Her path led straight toward the stables, and our hearts seized with terror. The last ti she had wandered there, she had tried to end her life.
"Damn it! We need to stop her. Jason’s toolbox—" Panic sharpened my voice as I quickened my pace.
"Nothing is there," Lucian cut in, his voice hard. "Jason cleared it out already."
Relief washed over , but it was bitter and brief. We knew what awaited us now was not the sight of a weapon in her hands, but the desolation of watching her collapse beneath the weight of her despair.
She went straight into the storage room of the stable, the door shutting behind her.
Outside, we stood frozen in uneasy silence. Of all the places in this vast estate, she had chosen this one—the very place where she had once been tortured.
"Roman, you go," Kael said firmly.
I was going to, even if he hadn’t told .
With a slight nod, I stepped forward, pushing open the door while the others remained outside. If we all crowded her at once, it would only enrage her further.
I saw her sitting in the corner, her legs folded in front of her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them, her head slightly lowered as she stared blankly at the ground. The sides of her face were hidden behind strands of hair, her body rocking lightly back and forth, restless. Her breathing was uneven, faint, almost unheard groans leaving her throat, her teeth clenched tightly as if she were fighting sothing within herself.
This sight wasn’t just worriso—it was frightening. She looked like a ghost hiding in the darkness. One could tell her psychological struggle had been going on for a long ti.
"Eira," I called softly.
She didn’t react. I could tell she neither heard nor felt my presence. She was lost sowhere—her mind wasn’t here anymore.
I knelt beside her and gently touched her hand. "Eira."
She didn’t look at but said, "If you’re here to fuck , do it and get lost."
Once more, the sa reaction. It didn’t startle this ti.
"No. I’m not here for that. I’m here to be with you," I told her.
"Bastards! Liars!" she mumbled, as if cursing not just but all mankind.
"Eira..."
She finally looked at . "Your pretentious care suffocates . You can go to hell with that and leave alone," she spat angrily. "Better die and take those bastards with you to hell as well. Just die—all of you."
I remained calm. "None of us will die. We are going to live together with you. You can get angry at us, hit us, curse us—but we are all going to live."
"Fuck off! Leave alone," she said angrily. "Just go."
In response, I settled next to her on the ground. "I’m not going anywhere. You can do whatever you want with . You might even strangle to death to get your anger out. It will help you feel better."
She looked at angrily and then stood up. Then she abruptly rose to her feet. Her gaze darted around the room, and she seized whatever she could find—cardboard boxes, dried grass stacked in a heap. With all her strength, she flung them at one after another. The boxes struck my shoulders, the brittle grass scattered across , sticking to my clothes and hair.
She said nothing, not a single word, but poured her fury into every motion, every throw, as if the act itself could rid her of the poison festering within. And I let her. I sat there, unmoving, enduring it in silence.
At last, when there was nothing left to hurl, her rage seed to bleed out of her. Her body sagged, her shoulders slumped, and she dropped back to the ground. Sweat clung to her skin, her breaths ca ragged and shallow, and her head fell forward as though the fight had been wrung out of her.
Only then did I move. I brushed away the ss she had thrown, strands of dried grass clinging stubbornly to , though I swept them off as best I could.
Kneeling before her, I gently reached out, tucking back the strands of hair that had fallen over her face. "Are you feeling better now," I asked softly, "or do you want a few more things to throw at ? I can arrange them if you like."
Her response was swift and cold. She slapped my hand away, her face hardened, her silence louder than any words. She wanted no comfort, no touch—nothing from .
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