~Axel's Point Of View~
The image was burned into my mind.
No matter how hard I tried to scrub it out, to reason with it, to distract myself from it—there it was again, replaying in crystal clarity like some sad film reel stuck on loop.
María José was in bed with him. That damn witch. Our enemy. The same one who wanted to turn her against me and have her for himself.
I kept telling myself it wasn't what it looked like. It couldn't be. Not her. Not sweet, innocent María José – the girl who trembled when someone raised their voice, who flinched from the pigs in the sty, who looked at the world like it was too cruel and she didn't know how to exist in it without bruises. She wouldn't do that.
She couldn't to me… to us.
But the image kept slicing through my excuses like a dagger.
