Then, as if something in him shifted, he pushed Nadia aside and slowly walked toward me. His expression was unreadable, his steps unhurried, deliberate. My body tensed involuntarily, a chill creeping up my spine.
There was no warmth in his eyes as they locked onto mine. Only a cold, merciless calculation.
"Jonah, I didn't hurt her mother!" My voice came out hoarse, raw. "She kidnapped me and staged this whole act! If you don't believe me, you can—"
The words never left my lips.
A sharp, searing pain shot through my body.
I gasped, staring in disbelief at the knife now embedded in the back of my hand. The cold metal sent shockwaves of agony through my nerves, the pain so intense it forced blood up my throat. I coughed violently, splattering red across the floor.
Jonah, now spattered with my blood, stood unmoved.
His lips quivered slightly as he asked, almost absently, "Why... didn't you dodge?"
Dodge?
He actually thought I let this happen. As if I could have done anything at all.
I was drugged. My limbs felt like lead. My body refused to move.
Yet, what truly twisted the knife deeper wasn't the pain, but the memory of who he used to be.