I can’t hide the expression on my face; Charles looks even worse than I ever imagined. The sight of him stirs up a whirlwind of memories—the struggle, the screams, the scars etched into my mind, the cries that echoed in the darkness, and the pain that lingers like a shadow. He embodies the dead part of me, the part I thought I had buried. The hurt he caused runs deep, and I find myself consumed by hatred for every inch of him. It’s infuriating to realize that, after everything he’s done, I’m now standing in front of him, the lunatic I despise the most, preparing to interrogate him.
I can’t help but notice how his eyes glide from Richie to me, a predatory gleam in his gaze as he seductively licks his lips, presumably recalling the twisted acts he committed against me. That bastard really n
