Clayton’s voice sliced through the silence, sharp and merciless. “Dorothy said you’ve decided not to eat.” His tone was heavy, laced with lethal authority.
I flinched. Each time I saw him, I remembered the sting of his slap, the humiliation of our first meeting. I was terrified of him. Every time I saw him, I remembered his hand striking my face the first time we met, the force of it, the humiliation. He knew I feared him. That’s why he was here—to force me to eat.
“I—I’m not feeling fine,” I stammered, my words trembling as I met his hard gaze, though the way his eyebrow arched told me he didn’t care.
His lips curled into a humourless smirk. “I don’t care what’s wrong with you. In this house, when you’re told to do something, you do it, eating included. That free will, Dontrell has sp
