(Third Person).
Wanda's eyes burned into Meredith's back as she watched her walk away, hand-in-hand with little Xamira.
The child laughed, chattering up at Meredith as if she were her mother or favourite aunt—not the woman Wanda had carefully trained to trust her first.
She could practically hear Meredith's smug little chuckle, even if the woman didn't let it surface.
Wanda's jaw tightened. "Brainwashed," she muttered under her breath. "That bitch has poisoned the little girl's mind."
Fury coiled tight in her chest, seething like steam in a sealed kettle. Her nails bit into her palms as she curled her fists, imagining snapping Meredith's slender neck in half—just a quick twist and everything would be over.
But fantasy was all it could be for now. Meredith was too protected. Too watched. Draven's absence was the only breathing space Wanda had… but even that wasn't enough.
It wasn't time yet.
