The moment the words left my mouth, Nadia snapped.
With a wild, furious cry, she grabbed the blood-stained knife from the floor and lunged at me.
"Arabelle! I'll give Jonah back to you, okay? Why did you hurt my mom and then slander her? Do you even have a conscience?"
Her grip on the knife was unsteady, her rage blinding.
Jonah moved in an instant, seizing her wrist before the blade could reach me. With a swift motion, he pried the weapon from her grasp.
Then, without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms, holding her shaking body tightly against his own.
Nadia turned to him in disbelief, her voice shrill with anguish. "Jonah, my mother is barely clinging to life because of Arabelle and you're still protecting her?"
Tears streamed down her pale face, her body trembling as if she would collapse at any moment. If I weren't the one being framed, even I might have believed her—believed that I was some heartless monster who had done the unthinkable.
Under my gaze, Jonah gently wiped the blood off Nadia's hands with his own sleeve, his touch tender. "I just don't want you to dirty your hands," he murmured, his voice soft in contrast to the madness unfolding around us.