The rain fell quietly around us.
Neither of us spoke, but for once, the silence wasn't suffocating. It was a heavy, fragile thing, hanging between us like the mist rolling off the southern hills.
I stared at the soaked grass, watching the puddles gathering beneath my boots. I looked at anything except him. Because every time my eyes drifted to Draven, the echo of his voice pierced my mind, raw and mocking:
Should I be a Duke today... or your husband?
My chest still ached with a dull, throbbing pain. I hated it. I hated how much his words mattered to me.
"...Are you still angry at me?" I finally whispered, the sound nearly swallowed by the storm.
Draven didn't answer immediately. The rain tapped softly against the stone path, a relentless ticking clock. Then, his deep voice cut through the gray light.
"No."
I blinked, my eyes slowly lifting toward him. "No?"
His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his jaw tight. "I was."
