It felt like I was being yanked straight back into that nightmare.
"Three years, Elaine. One broken leg. A stray with no home, and you still haven't learned how to be a good, obedient dog?"
That voice, carved into my bones and haunting every single day of my life, slammed me right back into the present.
Dylan's grip on my wrist was brutal, sharp enough to make my eyes water, but I couldn't help it.
I smiled.
With my free hand, I tapped the cold, metallic surface of my prosthetic leg, which was concealed under my trousers. The sharp tapping sound cut through the quiet banquet hall, slicing through the air like a knife.
"Dylan," I said, my voice calm and even, "now that I think about it, I should thank you. The leg you destroyed back then? It's stronger now than your life."
Before he could even process my words, I swung my prosthetic into his shin with all the force I had.
A dull thud echoed through the room, followed by the sickening crack of bone.
Instantly, the color drained from his face. Dylan's expression turned to disbelief, and for a moment, the entire hall fell into an eerie silence.
Then the crowd went wild.