ed everything. Blood warmed my hand as I pressed it against the wound, but I didn't stop. I couldn'

me. For Mom. She was still in there, bleeding, vulnerable. I had to reach Cristo

of wind sounded like footsteps behind me. I pushed harder, forcing my batt

umbled towards it, my legs screaming in protest, my lungs burning. I pounded on the door, a frantic, desperat

What in God's name are you doing here? And what is that ridiculous getup?" His gaze swept over my blood-soaked clothes, my frantic express

l blow. "Games? Cristofer, what are you talking about? Mom... Mom has been sho

t this time, didn't you? Broderick called. Said you were probably going to stage some 'drama' to get attentio

nd, the blood still oozing, staining my shirt a dark, horrifying red. "

le fake blood, a theatrical wound. Honestly, Hayden, it's impressive. But it

nting seeds of doubt, making him believe this nightmare was a twiste

ce cracking, tears freezing on my cheeks. "Mom is dying! She's

you came, I should just let you 'cool off' outsid

enting him from shutting me out completely. "Cristofer, I'm begging you

'antics' going too far this time. He told me to just stand my ground." He paused, a strange, calculating look in

, his need to control. He saw my intuitive nature, my premonition, as a threat to his authority, a challenge to his perfect world. And Cristofer, weak-willed

Mom die... I swear to God, I will never forgive you. Our engagement, everyth

an I loved, in his eyes. But then his face hardened. He was pl

s. "I'll do anything. I'll leave, I'll disappear, I'll never bother you or Broderick

now, bloody and broken. I saw no pity,