I stepped forward and stopped him. “It is alright. It does not matter anymore.”
I walked out of the hall, my face calm. In the past, those words would have felt like a silver blade to my heart. But I had finally accepted the truth: Malachi’s heart would always be buried in the ground with Via, and Marc would always see me as the shadow that stole her place.
“Why must you cause a scene today?”
I heard Hestia’s sharp voice as she stepped into my path outside.
“What do you want, Hestia? I have played my part for eight years. I am done,” I said.
“You should love Marc like your own blood! You should bear his anger and care for him. If my daughter were still alive, he would be a happy prince,” she snapped.
I shrugged, too tired to argue. “A pity your daughter is dead.”
Hestia raised her hand to strike my face, but I caught her wrist mid-air.
“Do not try it, Hestia. I am not the weak girl you bullied eight years ago. The contract is over. Marc is eight, and I have every right to go.”
Hestia yanked her hand away, rubbing her sore arm and glaring at me.
“Go then, Rhea. This is why no one will ever love you. Not even your father wants to see your face!” she hissed before vanishing into the dark.