“I didn’t know it was your mother’s! I swear, I really didn’t know!”

Zara clung to my hand.

“Just hit me!”

“Please!”

“Hit me, so I can feel a little better!”

Zara was about to slam her head on the floor. Just as it was about to make contact, a hand shot out between us. Damon caught her forehead, pulling the trembling, sobbing girl to her feet. He looked at me, his voice flat.

“The dead can’t be brought back to life. Things are just things. There’s no need to make things difficult for the living over something inanimate. Zara already knows she was wrong.”

Damon spoke so casually, as if this were a very, very small matter.

And I was the one being petty and narrow-minded.

He stood protectively in front of Zara and told me:

“Don’t make it any harder for her. She already feels guilty enough.”

I hadn’t said a word. I hadn’t even reacted.

All it took was for Zara to play the victim, and it was all my fault.

From the time Zara stole my earrings, to when she took my paintings, to when she smashed our wedding photo, to her brazenly invading my home, my sanctuary, and now, to her shattering the last thing my mother left for me.

And still, Damon was telling me to forgive her, to be the bigger person.

My head was ringing, my throat was tight, and the trembling in my fingertips betrayed my lack of calm. I turned and looked at Zara, who was still crying in Damon’s arms. I walked right up to her, and in front of Damon, I grabbed a handful of her hair and slammed her head against the wall.

Then, amidst Zara’s terrified screams, I kicked her in the back of the knee. This time, she really fell to her knees in front of me.

“That’s not how you kowtow.”

I put my foot on her knee and, with my other hand still gripping her hair, I slammed her head onto the floor.

A loud thud echoed through the room.

I heard Zara scream as blood began to seep from her forehead. I told her, “This is how you beg for forgiveness!”

My eyes were bloodshot. I grabbed her head again, ready to slam it down, but Damon caught my wrist. He forcefully stopped me, his face dark as he looked at me.

“Let go!”

“In your dreams!”

Damon used his other hand to pry my fingers open. I watched as my nails bent back, a sharp pain shooting through my hand. He didn’t seem to notice, just kept prying, one finger at a time, warning me.

“Don’t take it too far, Mia!”

Too far?

I looked at Damon and laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “Damon, the difference between humans and animals is that humans can think, they can tell right from wrong. Humans are bound by morality, not just driven by their f**king passions to blindly protect someone!”

“Since you’ve decided to protect Zara!”

“Fine!”

I didn't care that my nails were breaking. I watched the blood drip from my fingertips, and while Damon was still stunned, I ignored the searing pain and raked my hand across Zara’s face.

As my nails broke completely, the face that had appeared in dozens of my social media feeds every day was ruined along with them.

Zara completely lost it.

And I finally burst out laughing.

“You know what this is?”

“This is karma!”

“Let me tell you something, Damon Starr.” I looked at his incredulous expression, then at Zara, who was clutching her face and screaming like a banshee. I reminded him, “I was never a saint! You should have known that a long time ago!”

“Damon Starr!”

“You have officially pissed me off!”

“And let me tell you!”

“If I don't f**king destroy you, my name isn't Mia Lin!”