CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

Myra's Pov

I never knew the sound of my own name would horrify me.

As I suddenly stayed glued to the seat; holding its edges with both hands, breathing heavily and panting. I didn't know how he knew my name. Because I didn't think Francis or Elora had told him.

At least not yet.

I could see the muscled man smirk and move away, turning back and to his stool. Then sitting down and pausing; patiently waiting for me to stop my panic attack.

I frowned, disturbed, but eventually calmed down. With my breathing steadily slowing, and my hands loosening their tight grip on the chair.

I looked at my knuckles and saw they had gone white. But my wrists were still swollen red, and I wondered why they didn't hurt when I held onto my chair like a vice.

Maybe fear was a painkiller?

"Are you calm now?" came the man's voice, asking with a raised brow.

I could see his eyes relaxed, and I was surprised. Even though he was drunk, he still managed to stay sober enough to talk to me. And I nodded slowly in