Broken by One, Desired by All
This can’t be how it ends.
Celia’s wheelchair was already rolling backward, her lips curled in a smirk, her eyes cold as frost. "Do it already, Alisa," she snapped, her voice sharp as a whip crack. "You’re wasting time on trash."
Alisa stepped closer, the stick in her hand tapping against her palm, her smile slow, venomous. "You know," she mused, tilting her head as she looked down at me, "I told you I’d end you."
My stomach twisted. "Alisa..."