Seven wasn't just a cat.

She was the stray Desmond and I had rescued seven years ago. She was our family. I still remembered Desmond saying, "How could anyone abandon a Devon Rex?"

That night, the rain had been relentless. We’d wrapped her in our coats and carried her home. We nursed her, bathed her, and raised her piece by piece. When I was sad, she would nuzzle my face. When Desmond was angry, she’d perform silly tricks just to make him laugh.

She wasn't just a cat.

Vienna Cruz clung to Desmond, her voice dripping with artificial tears. "I’m sorry, Desmond. It was my fault I didn't keep a better eye on Seven. I didn't mean for it to happen..."

She turned to me, looking pitiful. "Serenity, let me take you out to dinner. I want to apologize."

I ignored her and turned to leave.

But Desmond brought Vienna home instead.

"If you don't want to go out, we can just make dinner here. I’ll whip something up," Vienna said, holding up a bag of groceries.

In the kitchen, they were laughing and chatting. He washed the vegetables; she chopped the herbs. They looked perfectly at home, like a pair of newlyweds.

I didn't want to eat.

Desmond’s face hardened. "That's enough, Serenity."

"Vienna has apologized more than once already. Don't be unreasonable. Sit down. Now."

He didn't give me a choice, pressing his hands against my shoulders and forcing me into a chair at the dining table.

My eyes stung with hot, unshed tears.

It brought me back to college. A rumor had started that I was his "ex-girlfriend"—the one who’d played him and left him cold—and because of that, every girl who had a crush on him steered clear of me. One afternoon, a group of girls cornered me in the back alley and smashed my phone.

Desmond had arrived just in time, shielding me with his body.

"Apologize to my sister!" he had barked.

The girls, terrified, had mumbled their apologies while staring at the ground. Back then, I had been seething, furious that they would take their rejection out on me. Desmond had chuckled, brushing his hand over my head. "You don't have to forgive them if you don't want to. You have the right to refuse."

But now?

Now, Desmond stood over me with a face of stone, his hands pinning my shoulders to the chair, forcing me to accept a flimsy, hollow apology from the woman who had hurt my cat.

I grabbed the plate next to me and sent it crashing against the floor, then shoved him away with everything I had.

"I don't want to!"