Ethan Shaw seized her wrist and yanked her back.
The tip of the blade split his palm.
Natalie collapsed into his arms.
He cupped her face with his bleeding hand.
Tears in her eyes, chin tilted up by his grip, the two of them kissed—fiercely, hungrily.
The knife clattered to the floor. The air held only their breath and heat.
Once, Ethan and I had embraced in blood.
Now Natalie kissed him in blood.
The door opened.
Natalie saw me.
“Sophia Summers!”
She snatched the knife up—
then dropped it with a clang as I fisted a hand in her hair and forced her to her knees.
Ethan caught my wrist.
“Enough. Don’t lower yourself to her level.”
“Mr. Shaw, you’re the one who refuses to divorce.”
I stared at him, voice like a blade.
“Since you insist on calling me your wife, I’ll live up to the title.
“What is your ‘Mrs. Shaw’—some doormat anyone can kick around?”
Smack!
My palm landed hard across Natalie’s face.
“Sophia!”
His shout cracked the room.
He wrenched us apart.
Natalie’s sobbing filled my ears.
I tore my wrist free.
“I gave you your chance.
“If you won’t divorce, don’t blame me for what comes next—”
A stab of pain bit into my waist.
I spun on instinct and drove a kick into Natalie’s jaw.