Matilda wanted to scream and shout but watching the cold, distant look in Vincent’s eyes made her stay mum. The realization hit her like a punch in the stomach—this was not a passing whim or a temporary madness. This was calculated, planned, and final.
“I understand, Vincent,” she murmured, her voice trembling with disbelief and resignation. She pointed towards the door, struggling to stay composed. “Just… go. Leave me alone, I need a moment.” The papers weighed heavily in her hands, her heart pounding.