The grip was sudden.
Forceful.
Too tight.
Pain exploded instantly up my arm, radiating through every nerve in my body.
My breath caught sharply.
I stumbled.
My knees nearly buckled under the sudden jolt.
A sharp wince slipped through my lips as fresh pain lanced through my already battered body.
Every instinct screamed at me to pull away.
But I didn’t panic.
I didn’t lash out blindly.
Instead—I turned.
Slowly.
And looked at her.
My voice, when it came, was quiet.
“Get your filthy hands off me,” I said, voice calm but sharp.
“You really don’t want to provoke me right now.”
My wrist twisted with deliberate slowness.
She resisted.
But not enough.
I pulled free.
Not aggressively.
Just enough to reclaim control.
To remind her—and myself—that I still had some of it left.
My gaze didn’t waver.
“You already lied about me once,” I said, voice steady despite the ache.
“Claimed I made you bleed... that I almost caused you to lose your baby—when I didn’t even touch you.”
A pause.
The words sharpened.
“This time... I might actually do it. Tear that baby from your body, let you bleed to death—and me? I'd pay no price. Nothing would touch me.”
