I stared at him, my heart fracturing again.
"I’ve told you already—I didn’t take her. I never laid a hand on Chelsea!" I dropped to my knees on the cold floor. "Why won’t anyone believe me? Why does no one trust me?"
My father stepped forward, his expression unreadable. My mother’s was twisted with rage and unbearable grief.
"How are we supposed to believe a murderer? A liar?" my father barked. "Even the Moonstone revealed your guilt!" His hand lunged forward and clamped around my throat.
I gasped for breath. My lungs screamed, my vision dimmed.
"Would the Moonstone lie?!" he roared. "Why won’t you admit what you did?! You’re a monster—you deserve death!"
I didn’t resist. I just stared at him—the man who once called me his little girl.
And then, I let out a cold, bitter smile.
"Then kill me," I croaked. "Isn’t that what you all want? The killer dead?"
His hands began to shake where they held me. Then suddenly, he let go, and I collapsed to the polished floor, gasping for air.