Christian teetered on the precipice of a decision that could alter the course of lives irreversibly. His blade, honed to a deadly edge, hovered mere millimeters from Noah’s exposed throat, a silent threat poised to unleash a torrent of violence. In the charged atmosphere, Ava's plea, feeble words, whispered in the throes of unconsciousness, echoed through the caverns of my mind like a haunting melody: “Please, Christian, don’t pull that trigger. I don’t want my husband to kill my brother.”
“I don’t want my husband to kill my brother,” I quoted Ava's words, causing Christian to halt in his tracks. He turned to look at me, and I continued, “That’s what she said when she was weak, lying unconsciously on the cold floor of the terrace. Even in her weakened state, struggling to breathe, unable
