Why Didn't You Fight For Me?

Even though Camila had spoken those words with all the judgment she could muster, deep down, a far more troubling thought had taken root in her mind.

Would I fall for it too?

The idea irritated her to no end. She had always been the kind of woman who held her head high, her pride unshaken even when her husband had insulted her. Words, no matter how sweet or cruel, had never swayed her.

And yet...

Here she was, watching Nina—feral, untouchable Nina—reduced to a love-drunk mess in Kafka's arms, and she hated the way it made her feel.

Not because she found Nina pathetic. No, it was worse than that.

Because a tiny, infuriating part of her was jealous.

She clenched her fists at her sides, biting the inside of her cheek as a wave of irritation—not at Kafka, not at Nina, but at herself—coursed through her.