Get..

As I choked back another sob, the melody within me threatened to drown in despair, a voice cut through the oppressive silence. "Ben." It was Zephyr, her voice cool and collected, devoid of any trace of the emotion I felt tearing me apart.

My heart lurched, a flicker of anger sparking amidst the ashes of my pain. "Did you enjoy the performance?" I spat, my voice hoarse with unshed tears. "Watching me break her heart, piece by agonising piece?"

She remained unfazed, her expression an indecipherable mask. "I apologise," she said, her voice devoid of warmth, "but it was for the best. You understand, don't you?"

Understanding? How could I understand the twisted logic that would sacrifice love for power, that would weaponize vulnerability for control? Anger flared, hot and fierce, threatening to consume me. But then, like a viper sensing danger, it retreated, replaced by a chilling realisation.

She wasn't sorry about the hurt. She was sorry I had shown weakness, and exposed a vulnerability
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