The room was eerily silent as I stared at the letter in my hand, my heart pounding in my chest. Every word on the page felt like a knife twisting deeper, a reminder of how much we had been deceived, how much we had been blind to. It was from my father—no surprise there, considering the path we had been walking lately—but the contents were more than I had expected. It wasn't just a letter. It was a warning. A declaration.
The handwriting was unmistakable. It was his.
"Emilia," the letter began. "You don't know the full truth of what's been happening. You never have."
That was all I needed to read before the reality of the situation hit me with full force. The truth of what my father had done, of how far he'd gone to manipulate everything I had believed in, began to unravel in front of me like a tangled web I couldn't escape from.