I lay on the cold floor, staring at the chandelier above. Tears rolled silently down my cheeks, soaking the carpet, leaving faint, dark stains.
That afternoon, two men in black suits burst into the room. Before I could react, they grabbed my arms and dragged me out.
I kicked, struggled, and begged. But they were far too strong. I was shoved into a car and driven back to the one place I swore I would never enter again: Erving’s villa.
As soon as I stepped in, I heard Anya’s tearful voice echoing from the living room.
Erving was sitting on the couch beside her, gently holding her hand. His thumb traced the band-aid on her wrist. His voice was soft and careful—like speaking too loudly might shatter her.
It was a tenderness I had never seen before.
“Does it hurt? The doctor said it’s just a scrape, thank God.”
When Anya looked up and saw me, her crying grew louder. “Erving, please don’t be mad at Mandy. I know she didn’t mean it…”
“Didn’t mean it?”
Erving’s head snapped toward me. The softness on his face and voice vanished instantly, replaced by a cold fury that cut straight through me.
“You were bold enough to do it, but now, you’re denying it?”