Nadia's Point Of View
The heels of my shoes clicked a frantic, panicked staccato against the marble floors as I sprinted from Azriel's room. My throat still burned from the weight of his hand, each swallow a reminder of how easily he'd crushed my windpipe.
The phantom sensation of that cold gun barrel pressed against my temple made my skin crawl, and I could still feel the imprint of the metal, circular and unforgiving.
I didn't stop running until I reached the guest wing, slamming the heavy oak double doors behind me and leaning against them, my chest heaving, lungs desperate for air.
The silence of the guest wing was insulting. It felt like a polite way of telling me I didn't belong in the heart of the house… that I was merely a visitor, tolerated but unwanted.
"Bastard!" I shrieked, the sound tearing through the pristine air like a knife through silk.
