Camilia sat cross-legged on the bed, arms folded, glaring at the empty space in front of her as if it had personally insulted her.

They burned everything.

Everything she touched.

Everything she washed.

Everything she tried.

Her lips twitched with anger; her chest felt heavy with humiliation. She had spent hours carefully folding Donatello’s clothes, scrubbing every corner, trying to replay Katherine convincingly — and he didn’t even hesitate.

He burned it.

Burned it like trash.

She ...