Love Burned, She Rose Unscathed

The screen played back the moment she sneaked into the study, cunningly switching two documents with the stealth of a cat burglar.

But that was just the tip of the iceberg. There were also recordings of her lording over Beverley, hurling verbal missiles and acting like she owned the place.

Millie was caught off guard, dumbstruck.

Was it the shock from the videos, or the sting from the man's unyielding slaps?

"I thought you were just a garden-variety narcissist, shallow and short-sighted, but you're a chronic liar, bitter and mean, stirring the pot, trying to drive wedges between people."

"Slapping you was to snap you back to reality, to cut off those delusions of grandeur. It was also a warning - cut the drama, or else—"

Murray's eyes narrowed, his tone dark as a storm cloud.

"You'll find there are fates far worse than death in this world."

Millie instinctively stepped back, her fear so intense that the burning pain on her cheeks seemed trivial.

"Murray, please, I-I didn't mean to..."

Murray remained silent, his expression unreadable.

"I'll go to Beverley myself, apologize. She can yell, she can hit, I won't fight back! Just as long as she forgives me, I'll do whatever it takes."

Still, Murray said nothing.

Panicked, Millie started sobbing uncontrollably. "I didn't do it on purpose, maybe it's the hormones from the pregnancy messing with my emotions, that's why I acted that way towards Beverley..." Murray watched her pitiful display, tears streaming down her face, looking every bit the victim.

"Are you done?"

Millie paused.

"Have you cried enough?"

"Murray..."

you're done, if you've cried

do

cold smile: "Did you think I was joking when I told you to leave? Letting you stay this long was more than

sobbed harder, her earlier fear now dwarfed by the panic of being

carrying your child, you can't just

didn't even flinch at her protest, immediately dialing

"No...I won't leave..."

Millie was

Murray: "I

I?! Your mother

this baby, how will you explain

this

off guard, Murray was tackled, Millie's fists raining down on

wretch, I'm carrying your child, and

leave! I'd rather

like a banshee, refusing to listen to reason; Murray, fed up,

backward, her back slamming against the wall with

like a madwoman, she

was prepared, swiftly stepping

stop in time, crashing directly into the

body rigid, feeling

Sensing something was wrong,

down to

trickling down her legsongs

staining the floor.