MONICA

The echoes of Greenwood’s boots had barely faded from the stone corridor before I retreated into the depths of my second chambers. Every step felt like walking over broken pieces of glass. My breath came in shallow, jagged hitches, and the air in the room felt thin, as if the very walls themselves had drawn closer just to witness my humiliation.

A cold tomb.

The words weren't just an insult; they were a death sentence for a woman in my position. I slammed the door shut behind me, the boom vibrating through my chest, but it couldn't drown out the sound of his mocking, cruel voice. I was the...