Evie Stanton

I was sick of feeling sorry for myself.

Fuck him.

Fuck everyone here.

Then why couldn’t I stop fucking crying? My eyes burned, cheeks wet. Katarina had tied me to a support ballast in Thane’s cabin. I sat there, head bowed forward, my shirt wet from how many tears I've cried these past twelve hours.

I didn’t think I’d ever be the type of woman to cry after a man. Every man in my life looked at me like I was a ...