Stefanie let out a delicate laugh, pounding lightly on his chest. "Make it an even hundred."
Seconds later, the final slap landed.
A dark trickle of blood slipped from Venice's lips—and the world went black.
When Venice opened her eyes again, the blinding white hospital lights stabbed at her vision.
The air reeked of disinfectant—cold, sterile, and painfully familiar.
She tried to move her fingers, just slightly, but even that small motion startled the man slumped beside her bed.
Kevin's eyes were bloodshot, his face weary and haggard. It looked as though he hadn't slept all night.
When he saw her awake, a heavy breath of relief escaped his lips. "Venice, you're finally awake."
His tone softened, gentle, coaxing.
"I know you're angry," he murmured, "but no matter what, you shouldn't have laid hands on Stefanie. I need the Cervantes family's support—Stefanie is a important part of that plan."
Then, in a voice that tried to sound tender, he added, "But remember this, Venice. No matter what I do, I only love you. Everything I'm doing is to help you enter the McAuliffe family sooner."
Venice stared up at the white ceiling, silent. The words reached her ears but not her heart.