Chapter 1322:
Evelina rested against him, blinking up at the unfamiliar yet striking face above her, her cries gradually softening until they faded into silence.
Deandre handed her back to Melany, his tone turning cold and firm. “Take her outside and wait for me. I’ll handle everything here.”
Their eyes met briefly—his darker and more unreadable than she had ever seen them—and a chill ran down Melany’s spine. She looked away quickly, pulled the child close, and walked out without another word.
Deandre shut the door behind them and turned toward Carlos, who had already crawled into the kitchen in a desperate attempt to put distance between them.
Surrounded by broken dishes, Carlos scrambled to stand, his face a mask of panic and disbelief. “Stay back!” he shouted as Deandre stepped closer. He pressed himself against the cabinet until there was nowhere left to go, then grabbed a fruit knife from the counter and held it out in front of him with shaking hands.
Deandre stood over him, his presence heavy and suffocating.
𝗦𝗵𝘢𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘶𝗿 fа𝗏𝗈𝘳іt𝗲𝗌 𝘧r𝗼𝘮 g𝗮𝗹ո𝗈v𝗲𝗹𝘴.𝗰𝗈𝗆
His eyes were bloodshot—but they held no rage, no madness. Only a chilling, absolute calm that was far more frightening than fury would have been.
“Which hand did you use to touch her?” he asked quietly.
His tone was low, almost conversational, as though the question were entirely ordinary.
Carlos’s lips trembled as he jabbed the knife forward. “That’s attempted murder—you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison!”
Deandre kicked the knife from his hand without hesitation. As Carlos reached for it again, Deandre brought his foot down hard on his right hand with a sharp, sickening crack.
The scream that followed echoed through the entire room.
Deandre kept his foot in place, pressing down steadily, without the slightest concern for the sound of it.
“I’ll ask you one more time,” he said, leaning in slightly, his eyes fixed on Carlos’s contorted face. “Which hand touched her—or was it both?”
Carlos broke entirely, sweat and tears streaming down his face. “The left—just the left, I swear!”
Deandre gave a small nod. He moved his foot aside, crouched down, and seized Carlos’s left wrist firmly. Carlos’s eyes went wide with pure terror. “No—please, stop! I was wrong—I know I was wrong!”
“Wrong?” Deandre repeated coldly, and twisted the wrist without hesitation.
A clean cracking sound filled the air.
Carlos’s scream cut off as his eyes rolled back, his body on the verge of shutting down from the pain. Deandre watched without expression as Carlos curled into himself, instinctively trying to protect what remained.
Then Deandre brought his foot down again—and again—onto Carlos’s ribs, each impact measured and without mercy. With every blow, Carlos’s cries grew fainter, until only weak, ragged groans remained.
Eventually, Deandre stopped. He drew a long, slow breath to steady himself.
Blood stained the tip of his shoe. Melany’s face surfaced in his mind. He closed his eyes, struggling to hold back the violent storm still churning inside him. He knew he couldn’t continue—one more step and he might cross a line he couldn’t come back from.
He turned to leave.
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