"No need, Papa. I want to handle this myself. Let me do it."
My father paused for a moment, then sighed. "Ah, you. No matter what, remember the family will always have your back."
After hanging up, I took a deep breath and prepared to leave the safe house. To my surprise, I ran right into Roxie and Donovan.
"What? Are you satisfied now?" Donovan snapped, rushing towards me and stomping hard on the leg that had been injured when I took a knife for him. He used so much force I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. My vision swam.
The day I met Donovan, a surprise attack from a rival family had nearly cost him his life. The streets were slick with blood.
In an attempt to block a knife for him, I ended up with a deep gash on my leg, a wound that still aches to this day.
Donovan was taken aback and paused, but after a glance over his shoulder, the flicker of guilt in his eyes vanished.
"Apologize to Roxie," Donovan demanded. "If it weren't for you, she wouldn't have rushed over here and gotten hassled."
I looked at the seemingly unscathed Roxie standing behind him. There wasn't a scratch on her.
"I'm telling you, those bastards almost got their hands on her! Thank God she's alright, or I'd never forgive you!"
Donovan continued to roar, looking at me as if I had murdered his entire family.
"You'd better say what I want to hear, Scarlett, or I'll wipe a third-rate artist like you off the map! You're nothing, so know your place. A small fry like you can't touch me."
Roxie wrapped her arms around Donovan from behind and shook her head. "Donnie, Scarlett is just a third-rate artist. As the bigger person, I shouldn't stoop to her level. Let's just drop it."
"What did you just call me?"
I clenched my fists, restraining the urge to slap them both. For three years, Roxie had been a fly buzzing in my ear, filling my life with her incessant drone. "I am so fucking done with you, Roxie."
In an instant, the sharp crack of a slap echoed through the air. Donovan's face went white with rage, his hands trembling as he roared, "I told you to apologize!"
My cheek stung. I tasted blood.
Roxie's lips curled into a triumphant smile.
Anger, humiliation, and helplessness churned inside me.
"Is it that hard to apologize, Scarlett? You're the one in the wrong!" Donovan roared, then grabbed my right hand—my painting hand—and slammed it against the wall.
"You should be grateful Roxie didn't make you kneel and beg! And you still have the nerve to make a fuss? Who the hell do you think you are?"
To think that just a few days ago, I had been crying and begging for his forgiveness.
But now, I was done. All I wanted was to get away from him, as fast as possible. Even arguing felt beneath me.
"If you walk out that door, Scarlett, we're through!"
When Donovan saw I wouldn't back down, a flicker of panic, almost imperceptible, crossed his eyes.
"So be it," I replied with a nod. I calmly limped out of the safe house.
What a waste of three years.
Suddenly, I felt a huge push from behind as Roxie lunged forward with a scream. Donovan instinctively shoved me hard, sending me tumbling down the stairs. I threw out my right hand to break my fall.
A sharp pain lanced through my body. I instinctively pulled my hand back, only to see my wrist twisted at a sickening angle, the bone piercing through the skin.
By the time I realized what had happened, I had already hit the bottom of the stairs. My head slammed against the hard ground, and blood blurred my vision.
Meanwhile, Donovan, my supposed boyfriend, was anxiously shielding Roxie.
He showed no concern for me at all. Instead, his expression screamed that I deserved it.
He pulled Roxie back into the house and snarled at my prone form, lying in a pool of my own blood, "Serves you right! You can kneel there and think about who you are! Don't get up until you figure it out!"
