I had screamed until my throat burned raw.
Begged for help that never came.
Afterward — they left me bleeding on the bunk.
My body shaking.
My child inside me moving violently from stress.
I had dragged myself upright hours later.
Hands trembling.
Cradling my swollen belly.
Whispering promises.
“If I survive...”
“I will find him.”
“If I get out of here...”
“I will destroy the man who sent me here.”
Slow.
Merciless.
Without pity.
I had sworn on the life growing inside me.
Sworn that revenge would be my oxygen.
That justice would be my only purpose.
And now —
That man knelt before me.
Throat exposed.
Eyes steady.
Blue gaze unafraid of death.
The weight of the dagger pressed into my palm felt like destiny and betrayal colliding.
Ruslan didn’t move.
He didn’t beg. He didn’t flinch.
He simply waited.
Waiting for my decision. Waiting for judgment.
Waiting for me to either become the executioner I once promised myself I would be —
