AMANDA
Theodus doesn’t just hold my chin—he owns it, his grip punishing, his thumb digging into my jaw like he’s trying to break me from the inside out. Scarlet steps forward, her heels slicing through the silence, each sharp click driving nails into my skull.
She crouches, and I feel the heat of her breath before I see her face—twisted into a smirk so venomous it makes my stomach turn. “Pathetic.” Her voice is sugar-dipped poison. “You’re exactly what I expected, Amanda. Weak. Dirty. A joke.”
Her hand lashes out, nails clawing through my scalp as she grabs a fistful of my hair, dragging my head back until my throat strains, raw and exposed. I choke on the gasp that escapes, and she laughs—a sick, hollow sound that drips with delight.
“You’re not even trying to fight,” she sneers, her
