POV: Zina
The ropes around my wrists felt like fire, burning into my skin with every slight movement. My arms throbbed, my head pounded, and my throat ached from all the yelling earlier. But none of that mattered. My eyes remained locked on Asher. He was slumped in the chair across the room, his small frame still and silent.
The creak of the door snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned my head sharply, glaring at the figure stepping into the room. Trina.
Her heels clicked against the wooden floor as she sauntered in, a twisted smile on her face. She looked every bit the villain she was—red lips curled in smugness, eyes glinting with malice.
"Well, well, look at the great Zina now," she said, stopping in front of me. "All tied up and helpless. What a sight."
"What do you want, Trina?" I spat, my voice raw but sharp. "Haven't you done enough?"
She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Done enough? Oh, sweetheart, I'm just getting started."
