"I would never go back to him." The words came out like venom.
"Then what? What's your endgame?"
"Survival." She stood abruptly, moving to the window. "Something you wouldn't understand, being at the top of the food chain."
I followed, stopping just behind her. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body. "You think I don't understand survival? I wasn't born into this position, Sophie. I clawed my way here."
"By stepping on others."
"By doing what was necessary." My voice dropped lower. "Just like you're doing now."
She spun to face me, eyes blazing. "Don't pretend to know me."
"I know more than you think." I stepped closer, forcing her back against the window. "I know you're smarter than Antonio ever gave you credit for. I know you've been playing a role—the beautiful, harmless girlfriend—while gathering evidence against him."
Her breath caught. "You don't—"
"I know you're dangerous." Another step. "And I know that right now, you're calculating whether to try to seduce me or kill me."
For a heartbeat, she was perfectly still. Then she reached for the crystal decanter on the nearby table and hurled it past my head. It shattered against the wall, whiskey and glass exploding outward.
I didn't flinch. "If you're going to kill me, at least try harder."
Her chest heaved with fury, eyes wild. "You think you're so clever. You think you know everything."
"I know enough." I closed the distance between us. "I know Antonio beat you."
The color drained from her face. "How—"
"The bruises you tried to hide. The way you flinch at sudden movements. The fear in your eyes when his name is mentioned." I reached out, not touching her, my hand hovering near her cheek. "What I don't know is why you stayed with him as long as you did."
"Stop." Her voice cracked.
"Why gather evidence instead of just running?"
"I said stop!" She shoved against my chest, but I caught her wrists.
"Tell me the truth, Sophie. Why risk everything for that flash drive?"
She yanked her arms from my grip, fury flashing in her eyes. "We've already been through this."
"Say it again."
"Why? So you can pretend you didn't hear me the first time?"
I stepped closer. "Because every time I look at you, I start to wonder if any of this is real."
She let out a bitter laugh. "You want me to repeat the part where your brother traffics girls and launders blood money? Or the part where I was stupid enough to think someone would actually believe me?"
I didn't answer. I was too busy watching the storm behind her eyes. She was shaking—but not from fear. From frustration. From exhaustion. From anger that no one had believed her, not even me.
"You think I made it up?" she asked, voice low. "You think I stitched together bank accounts and fake names and locked it all in a drive for fun?"
"I think…" I exhaled. "I think I don’t know what to think anymore."
"Then don’t ask me to prove it again. Just do what you’re going to do." Her voice broke on the last word, and I hated myself for what I'd put in her eyes.
We stood there, breaths ragged with fury and something else—something electric and dangerous that had been building since the moment I'd pulled her into my car.
