Cyrus sat frozen, the silence in the room turning deafening. Camilla’s confession rang like a siren in his ears, every word carving a wound in his chest. The image of her fighting for her life—alone, bruised, terrified—tightened his chest. His gaze remained fixed on her, searching her face for any sign of the pain she had just relieved.

Camilla's eyes, though steady, held a depth of sorrow that words could scarcely capture. Her posture was now upright, almost defiant, but her hands trembled slightly in her lap.

"You went through all that... and still stood tall," Cyrus finally whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He reached out, gently taking her...