The chill of the evening air did little to soothe the burning in Quinn's chest. Hidden behind a thick oak, she watched, breath held tight, as the man she had loved for three years stood with another. Not just any other, but Delilah, her own sister.

The whispers, the knowing glances, the sudden distance from Jeo—it all clicked into place with a sickening thud. Their bond, once an unbreakable tether, felt like a fraying rope about to snap. Tears stung her eyes, blurring the sight of their shared laughter. She had pretended not to see, clung to the hope that their love was stronger than mere flirtation. It was a fool's hope.

Turning away, Quinn walked, the forest floor silent beneath her feet, a stark contrast to the storm raging within her. She headed back to the house Jeo had built for them, a home now filled with the hollow echoes of a love lost. His scent, mint and cinnamon, clung to the cold sheets, once a comfort, now a torment. She clung to his pillow, fresh tears soaking the fabric, a silent promise forming in her broken heart: she wouldn't give up. Not yet.