—Natasha's POV—
Micheal's hand touched his cheek and he winced in pain. Blood seeped from his nose, dripping from the tip of his upper lip, falling somewhere on the ground. My breath hitched when a few tears fell on my cheeks.
“You bastard, you faggot fucker. Why did you do this?” I yelled.
He didn't reply but groaned in pain. I stepped back, looking at him with disgust and anger in my eyes. The blood from his nose and a bruise over his cheek looked ugly. I took a deep breath and sat on the chair beside his desk. I felt ashamed of myself for hitting him, but also furious. He deserves it though, I guess, but it doesn't mean I shouldn't regret it. I just hope I don't regret it.
“Who are you, Miss?” he asked in pain, and I was shocked by this question. How can he even say this? I mean,
