Chapter 84 What Follows An Open Wound

• The church door closed behind me with the groan of old wood, as if it too mourned what had just occurred. The night air hit me immediately, cold, sharp, with that damp stone smell only Rome knows. The street lamps spilled golden light over the steps, casting long shadows that seemed to follow me as I descended. My pulse still vibrated—not from fear, but from that indescribable mixture—rage, humiliation, triumph—that Ivy always left inside me.
• I walked aimlessly for a few minutes, letting my footsteps echo in the empty street. The silence was thick, almost tangible. And yet, behind me, inside the church, I could still feel her. Her voice. Her venom. Her desperation masquerading as strength.
• “I was the one who held him when you slept with his enemy.”