Winter was still reeling from the voice she'd heard on the recording. She couldn't mistake it—there was no denying who it belonged to. And the second realization dawned, her blood boiled with rage.
"That witch," Winter snapped, pushing herself up from the bed, her body rigid with fury. "How dare she try to hurt you!"
Her mind raced as anger surged through her, blinding and unrelenting. Dorothy. Of all people. Winter had always ignored Dorothy and her useless daughter, choosing to steer clear rather than waste her breath. But this? What she had done to Kalix—this crossed every line.
She hadn't just hurt Kalix. She had put the lives of innocent people in danger—people who worked under him, people who had nothing to do with their feud.
"I won't let her get away with this," Winter hissed, seething as she grabbed her car keys. "This time, she's gone too far."
She was halfway to the door, ready to storm out, when Kalix's voice cut through her fury.
"Angel, stop."
