Olivia's POV
Pity. That was the first thing I felt watching Anita beg for death. But as quickly as it came, pity was replaced with anger. Hot, sharp, bone-deep anger. It was as if my wolf was replaying every wound Anita had carved into me. Every humiliation. Every betrayal. If she had been given the chance to drive a dagger through my heart, she would've done it without hesitation. I knew that. She would not have pitied me. So why should I pity her?
My jaw tightened, and my nails dug into my hands. The sound of her voice—weak, begging, echoed in the dungeon like a sad cry. But all it did was remind me of how many times she laughed while I cried.
"Good girl," my wolf purred, her voice fierce and pleased. "Don't forget who she is. Don't forget what she's done."
