The tension between us was suffocating, like a storm brewing just under the surface. Lydia didn't struggle against my hold; she didn't even flinch. Instead, she stared up at me with that infuriating calm, her blue eyes shimmering with amusement—or was it challenge?
"You think you've won," I hissed, my voice low and trembling with restrained fury. "You think you're untouchable, don't you, Lydia?"
Her lips curved into a slight smirk, and I could have sworn I saw her chest rise with a soft laugh. "Won?" she repeated, her tone sharp and cutting. "Oh, darling, I don't need to win. I've already survived. Which is more than I can say for you and Zara."
My grip on her shoulders tightened, anger flooding through me like a tidal wave. "Fuck you," I spat, my voice shaking.
"So you want to fuck me well we only had a kiss?" she shot back, her smirk widening, cruel and mocking. "Four years ago. Or have you conveniently forgotten how eagerly you kissed me back then?"
