She flounced to the sofa while I crouched to wipe up the spilled honey, my hands and knees raw from the floor. Every touch stung, but I didn’t let it show. I even lifted her feet gently to clean beneath them.
"Go back."
Alaric spoke suddenly, tossing her clothes toward her.
"Alaric?"
"You’re not needed here anymore."
Arianne pouted but obeyed. She dressed, picked up the designer handbag Alaric had bought her, and walked out with one last resentful glance my way.
I stayed on the floor, unmoving.
Not because I didn’t want to get up—
but because my scraped knees made it too painful to try.
"You still have nothing to say?"
Alaric’s voice was ice.
I said nothing.
He ground his teeth in frustration.
"It’s just the two of us. No cameras, no microphones. So speak."
I nodded slowly. "I know."
With a snarl, he tossed aside his cigarette, grabbed my neck again, and shoved a photo in front of me.
"You and I both know he’s the murderer. So why won’t you testify? What’s your connection to him?"
I stared at the face in the photo and gave a bitter smile.
"I don’t know him."
"Then why are you protecting him?"
I met his fury head-on.
"I’m not."
He shoved me to the ground. Pacing like a caged animal, he snapped: