The sharp clack of Nathalia’s heels echoed through the room as she strode toward me, her gaze dripping with malice. She reached out, tilting my chin between her fingers, her touch deceptively gentle.
"Honestly, I don’t care whether you leave or not," she murmured, her lips curving into a slow, venomous smile.
"Because what I really want… is to ruin you completely."
Before her words could even settle in my mind, she suddenly tore at her own blouse, sending buttons scattering to the floor. With swift, practiced movements, she mussed up her hair, then seized my wrist and forced my hand to strike her again and again.
Then, as if on cue, she crumpled to the floor, her body trembling, tears spilling down her cheeks in violent torrents.
"Miss Hale," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I know you hate me, but how could you force me to do something like this?" Her fingers clutched at her chest as she gasped out her next words.
"I’d rather die than agree to it!"
With a sudden, dramatic lunge, she grabbed a fruit knife from the coffee table, angling it toward her throat.
Instinct took over. I surged forward, reaching to stop her.