Marcel had seen a lot of things in his long life—wars, betrayals, death—but seeing her standing at his doorstep, eyes red-rimmed and shoulders shaking, hit him harder than anything before.

He didn’t ask questions. Not yet. Instead, he stepped aside, letting her in, his hand hovering near her back, ready to catch her if she crumbled.

The second the door shut behind her, the dam broke. A sob tore from her throat as she buried her face in her hands. Marcel was beside her in an instant, his hands warm as they found her arms, steady and grounding.

"Hey, hey—come here," he murmured, pulling her against his chest. His heart clenched at the way she melted into him, gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her upright. He ran a hand over her hair, his jaw tightening with every shaky breath she took.

"It’s him, isn’t it?" His voice was softer than usual, but there was a dangerous edge beneath it. He already knew the answer.

She nodded against him, and that was all it took. Rage flickered in his chest, dark and consuming. That bastard—he had the nerve to hurt her? To break her heart like this? Marcel had given him a chance, trusted him to treat her right, and this was what she got in return?

"I’m so stupid," she choked out. "I should’ve seen it coming."

Marcel exhaled sharply. "No. Don’t do that. You loved him. That’s not stupid." His grip on her tightened, like he could hold her together by sheer will. "He’s the idiot. Not you."