Devillian’s hands hung mid-air, frozen in the space where her warmth had just been. The sting of her rejection didn’t show on his face—but it echoed in the silent twitch of his jaw, the stillness of his posture. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His eyes, sharp and stormy, stayed fixed on her as if she was the only thing anchoring him to reality.

She sat at the edge of the bed like a wounded angel—blue eyes glassy, lips trembling with anger and heartbreak. Her chest rose and fell in shaky breaths, and he caught every detail.