"I'll sleep in Seth's room. Let's go," Amaya replied, slipping her feet into the familiar comfort of her slippers, the fabric soft against her skin.
However, Fred abruptly halted her, his hand lifting her chin with a firm grip. His brows knitted together, and his fingers brushed against her cheeks, which trembled under his gentle yet intense touch. "Who?" he demanded, his voice a low growl, eyes dark and dangerous, jaw clenched tightly as if holding back a storm. Amaya held his hand, a playful smile breaking through her tension. "I deserve it today," she teased, sticking out her tongue, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. Fred's gaze flickered upstairs, a surge of anger bubbling within him as he imagined confronting whoever had upset her. But he knew better than anyone that no one could touch Amaya unless she allowed it. And if it was an accidental slap, Amaya wasn't a saint who would forgive it easily; she wouldn't hesitate to break their hand if provoked.
