Slowly, deliberately, he turned his back on her, as if mere blindness was not enough to remove her from his notice. It was more than dismissal; it was elimination. She felt the finality of it, like a massive gate slamming shut and sealed into place. For him, she had ceased to exist.
Her legs wobbled, threatening to give way. A flash flood of pain washed through her, tearing at the foundations of her very being. There was nothing left. Braden had withdrawn to a place she could not follow, and with him he took her future and herself.
She fell into an endless pit, a place unimaginable in its darkness. She lived the torment that Isabelle had known all her life, the anguish that had nearly driven Rowena to suicide and Milena to another man and eventual death.
This was agony. This was hopelessness. She’d been only half-awake before, blind to true despair. The price for seeing clearly, for growing up, was too high. She would do anything to return to blindness, to her old, childish life of gullible belief and unenlightened loneliness.
But there was no going back. Either she let herself be destroyed, or she must find another way. A new way…
From the deepest center of her body, from that very place Braden had awakened with his touch, a violent rage roared up to drive out the shock and suffering. She’d begun to acknowledge her own anger before, but this was to the earlier emotion as a wildfire to a candle flame. Cassidy was born anew, stretching limbs and muscles and tendons like a panther rising hungry from long slumber.
The liberation of her rage released feelings she hadn’t known she possessed. She hated Braden in that moment. Hate pulled her out of the pit as he would not, and with it came the will to fight back.
She had lied to Isabelle: Braden’s love was not worth fighting for, not at the price of her soul. She didn’t need anyone, least of all Braden Forsrer. He was not worth the struggle.
She was free, strong, powerful in ways Braden could not guess and she was only beginning to comprehend. To live here without love would be surrender, and she would never surrender again. Not to despair, and not to the earl of Greyburn.
“I am not your sister, and I am not Milena,” she said to Braden, fists clenched and head high. “I’m not Lady Greyburn. I am Cassidy Holt. Once I thought loving you was all that mattered. You were everything I wished I could become—noble and strong and sure of yourself. I pretended that there were good reasons that you treated people the way you did—the servants, Isabelle, Rowena, even Quentin. I made myself believe that you could learn to care about something besides the Cause.”
His back was rigid, unyielding, but she knew he heard every word. “I was wrong,” she said. “I read about love in poems, but I didn’t understand what it really was. Now I know you don’t have it inside you. And I don’t want what little you’re willing to give.”
Heady triumph carried her beyond all common sense. She wanted to hurt Braden, and keep on hurting him. “I’m not afraid of breaking the rules anymore, Lord Greyburn. You will never imprison me. I am Cassidy Holt. And I’m free.”
Heedless of the rich fabric of her gown, she tore at the buttons of her bodice, scattering them like seeds on the carpet. All her mother’s werewolf strength came to her service as she ripped the heavy cloth from her body. Shoes flew across the room. Her petticoat tumbled in shreds about her feet. The corset came apart with a snapping of laces, and she stood clad only in chemise and drawers. Her skin tingled at the caress of cool air.
Free.
Her mind went blank of all thoughts, her heart seared clean of emotion. She let instinct take her as once she’d let Braden possess her body and heart. It drove her to the door and out into the corridor, down the stairs at a dead run and to the entrance hall. She caught a glimpse of a footman’s startled face just before she flung open the heavy front door and plunged into the cloudy afternoon.