Emily's POV
Each step I took was a quiet, desperate plea for forgiveness. The weight of his anger, the memory of his pain-filled roar, felt like an actual physical burden.
I reached the door of his study and raised my hand to knock, but my fingers hesitated, trembling.
I swallowed hard, took a deep, steadying breath, and finally knocked. Three small taps that barely disturbed the silence.
"Victor?" My voice came out steadier than I felt. "I know you're angry. I know you probably don't want to see me right now, but we need to talk. Please."
I pressed my ear closer to the door, straining to hear something, anything. The rustle of papers. The creak of his wheelchair. His breathing.
Nothing.
"Victor, I'm not going away until you at least acknowledge that I'm standing here." I tried to inject some lightness into my tone, but it fell flat. "I can stand here all night if I have to. I'm very stubborn. You should know that by now."
More silence.
