The day’s tumultuous events cascaded through my thoughts, igniting a searing pain within. It felt as though my heart was being cleaved in two, my body wracked with uncontrollable shudders.
๐€โถล๏ฝแปืฉ๏ผฅ๐๏ฝ.ฤ๐๐ช
I had been on the verge of becoming Caleb’s mate. Yet, Luis‘ intervention into the I spiraled everything chaos, shattering joy had long anticipated in an instant.
“Ivy,” I whispered, the sadness palpable in my voice. “I’m at a loss what comes next-the obstacles I’ll face, or whether Caleb’s father will ever forgive me for the deception. What if he doesn’t?”
In that moment, I felt adrift, like a piece of duckweed tossed on the waves, unable to find anchorage.
๊งเผโฌ๐๐ฎ๐ช๐ป๐๐ธ๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ต๐ผ.๐๐ธ๐ถโฌเผ๊ง
Ivy’s response was gentle, a balm to my turmoil. “Don’t fret. All will be well. I’m here for you.”
Then, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence.
Glancing up, I saw my father and Zoe approaching in the distance.
Upon reaching the cell, my father’s expression was one of displeasure.
“Debra, your kindness is your downfall. Had you eradicated the Barton family earlier, we wouldn’t be mired in this mess!”
His words tempted me to retaliate, but I held back.
Was his first instinct to lay blame at my feet?
Barely containing my frustration, I retorted, “Perhaps you should grasp the full picture before casting aspersions.”
“Am I mistaken?” he countered, as if his point was self-evident.
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His stance only fueled my anger further.
“Let me be clear, I don’t oversee the affairs of the Barton family.
I’ve yet to officially become the Luna, lacking command over the Thorn Edge Pack. Moreover, it’s not a matter of being lenient. The Bartons, as members of the Thorn Edge Pack, are subject to our laws.
I lack the authority to flout these laws and unilaterally punish them.
Lastly, the Barton family’s roots run deep, entwined with the history of the
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Thorn Edge Pack itself. With assets spread across numerous packs, dismantling their influence is no simple task.
So, your criticism lacks foundation. It seems more about expressing your own frustrations than addressing the issue at hand. A father might be expected to offer support, not censure, in such times,” I concluded, my voice tinged with disappointment.
“Debra! My father’s irritation was evident, his voice rising. “Do you realize the effort it took for me to get here? And you question my dedication as a father?”
I remained silent, my lips pursed.
Understanding my father all too well, I knew his method of expressing care often involved criticism and belittlement. This approach, while perhaps intended as affectionate, was not how I wished to receive love.
Under normal circumstances, I might tolerate it, but the day’s events had left me on edge, unable to accept his harsh methods.
My disdain for his abrasive remarks and implicit dismissal of my feelings was overwhelming.
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