MAXIMUS’ POV

The sound of my fists hitting the bag echoed through the private training room—sharp, brutal, relentless.

Each strike came faster, harder, until my knuckles were raw and bleeding, until the ache in my chest became something I could almost bear. Almost.

But it wasn’t enough.

Nothing was enough.

I wanted the pain to swallow me whole—to bury me under something physical, something I could fight—because what I felt inside was worse than anything I’d ever endured.

Rage. Jealousy. Guilt.

It burned through my veins like poison.

I didn’t even know my cold, cursed heart could feel like this. For years I thought it was stone—untouched, unbreakable. I had...