She had wrecked him, wrecked his life, and had then strolled right to this prince, as if she were going from one room to another. And when it had all gone to hell, when he’d turned his back on everything he knew, when he had lied to the one who mattered most to keep her secrets, she had not been there to fight. To help. She had only returned, months later, and thrown it in his face. His uselessness. His nothingness.
