Celeste turned to me, eyes wide with accusation.
“Why did you push him down the stairs?” she demanded.
I blinked, stunned.
“Did you know I’m over a month pregnant? And you still tried to hurt him on purpose?”
Pregnant?
I looked toward Damien in shock.
He was slumped on the stretcher, brows furrowed slightly—but not in real pain. His cries, however, were shrill and dramatic. He shot me a look of warning behind Celeste’s back.
I couldn’t help it—I laughed.
“Yes,” I said. “What about it?”
Celeste froze, unsure whether she’d heard me right.
She studied my face carefully.
“Do you even realize what you’re saying?”
I met her eyes, steady and calm.
“I do.”
“Aren’t you going to explain yourself?”
“There’s nothing to explain.”
“If you admit it now, I’ll charge you with intentional assault.”
My body went rigid.
I looked at her, stunned.
She wasn’t bluffing—her eyes were deadly serious.
“Or…” she said, voice tight, “tell me the truth about your brother’s death. Do that, and I’ll drop everything.”
I glanced at Damien, who was hovering nearby.
Then I took a slow, steady breath.
“You’ll find out,” I said.
A flicker of hope crossed her eyes.
“But not yet.”
Her shoulders stiffened. Her eyes reddened.