Chapter 112

• Miranda’s POV
• As I stared down at the battered figure of Desmond, I couldn’t help but suppress a sardonic smile. There he was, the man who destroyed me in my past life, lying helpless before me. He clutched his ribs, groaning in pain, his disheveled hair falling over his face. Part of me wanted to leave him there, to let him feel what helplessness truly meant. But another part, the calculating part, saw an opportunity.
• I crouched down, feigning concern as I tilted my head and forced a sweet smile. “Desmond,” I said, my voice honeyed but devoid of warmth, “are you dying, or are you just being dramatic?”