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13. Just Like Your Father
Avery’s POV
His mouth opened slightly, a flicker of surprise etching across his face at my bold defiance. Despite his chilling threats and stern warnings, which I had brazenly cast aside, he seemed momentarily taken aback. But really, he should have known better; after all, he knew me quite well.
In the blink of an eye, the atmosphere shifted violently. I was slammed against the wall with a force that knocked the breath from my lungs. His hand clamped around my neck, his grip iron-tight, pinning me mercilessly in place. "You keep this up, there might not be any promise left to uphold," he hissed, his voice deadly quiet. "I’m not even sure you’ll survive being a slave here."
Before I could muster a response, he brandished a syringe from nowhere. With a swift, calculated movement, he plunged the needle deep into the side of my neck, injecting its contents into my bloodstream. I winced at the sharp, unexpected pain and gasped, taken completely off
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Avery’s POV "Of course, by 'terms' I meant terms of punishment, because your slave here disrespected me," Andrew's voice dripped with condescension, each word carefully crafted to twist the knife deeper. I stood there, gaping at him in stunned silence. He had been openly extorting me for a kiss, leveraging the threat of punishment which I feared—deeply and viscerally. Against every instinct screaming inside me, I had been moments away from capitulating, only to find myself now falsely accused of a defiance I hadn't even dared to voice. Liam's gaze, icy and penetrating, shifted onto me, and I felt a shiver of dread ripple through me. "Disrespected you how?" he demanded, his tone sharp as flint. "She told me to go to hell," Andrew replied with a casual ease that belied the gravity of his accusation. As he spoke, he sent me a quick wink, a secret little signal that went unnoticed by Liam, who was too absorbed in his scrutiny of me.
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