[SALVO'S POV]
I walked out of the room.
Didn't slam the door. Didn't shout. Didn't even look back. But every step away from him felt heavier than it should have—like my boots had picked up guilt on the soles and were now dragging it through the hallway.
I reached the end of the corridor, leaned against the wall, and exhaled. A long, sharp breath. Like I was trying to put out a fire in my chest with nothing but air.
He'd dropped to his knees.
Just like that.
Not because I told him to. Not because he was playing some submissive act. He did it because he thought I'd hit him.
And I...I let him.
I let him kneel there, eyes shut, bracing for something I wasn't going to give him. Not today. But I saw it—the panic behind his eyes, the way he was trembling, the way his voice cracked when he apologized like it had been rehearsed a hundred times before.
What the hell have I turned him into?
Or maybe the better question is—what kind of world taught him that this was normal?
