Her smile twisted, cruel and mocking. “What a pathetic fantasy! Zayn doesn’t love you—he never has. He won’t care even if you die, just like he didn’t care when your sister did.”
At the mention of my sister, my heart clenched violently as if countless fine, cold needles were piercing straight through it.
I stood frozen, unable to breathe, when Natalie suddenly kicked me hard in the chest. The pain burst through me and I stumbled back a few steps.
She folded her arms, her expression dripping with arrogance. “Yvonne, let me make this clear—Zayn loves me. He’ll only ever belong to me. If you have any sense left, you’ll obediently keep testing my drugs. Maybe, when I tire of torturing you, I’ll let you go.”
My trembling fingers tightened into fists. Quietly, without her noticing, I switched on the recorder hidden at my side.
My throat felt raw as I forced out, “So you admit it—you’ve been torturing me on purpose?”
Natalie answered without any shame. “Of course! I can’t stand women like you—ordinary or low-status people pretending to be noble, elegant, or high-class.”