âAlright, weâll do as you say.
â Danilo retrieved a sharp, newly purchased dagger from his pocket, cautioning, âThis blade is very sharp.
Be careful not to injure yourself with it.
â
Accepting the dagger, Nala playfully ki*sed his cheek, whispering, âI love you, dear.
â
Securing the opportunity to confront Lucinda alone, Nala stepped confidently into the room, now her own stage.
The door shut behind her, guarded by the bodyguards from the outside.
Lucinda, still unconscious, Lay on the dusty floor, motionless.
Nala knelt beside her, bringing the daggerâs tip to hover menacingly over Lucindaâs unblemished skin.
She took her time, relishing the moment, not yet ready to mar such beauty.
The slight sting of the blade seemed to rouse Lucinda from her slumber.
Her eyes fluttered open, meeting Nalaâs gaze directly.
âWell, Lucinda, it seems youâve timed your awakening perfectly.
â
Lucindaâs voice was steady, betraying no fear.
âYouâre behind this kidnapping? What have I done to earn such hatred?â
Nala couldnât mask her jealousy.
âYes, I hate you.
A face as lovely as yours, scarred? That would be quite a sight.
â
Gone was the facade of innocence.
Nalaâs true, malevolent self was laid bare.
Yet, Lucinda met her with a smile.
âI bear no grudge against you.
Thereâs only one woman in the world who could hate me to this extent, and thatâs Valerie.
So, who are you, really?â
Nala scoffed, her pride wounded.
âValerie is dead.
She was nothing more than a bastard of the Simmons lineage.
How could she ever stand against me? I am Nala Diaz.
â
Lucindaâs disbelief was palpable.
âHere I am, powerless before you, and still, you deny the truth?â
Nala stood firm in her denial.
âIâm not Valerie.
Why s
ould I concede to being someone Iâm not?â
With a fierce glint in her eyes, she aimed the dagger at Lucinda once more.
âIâll carve your face thirty times, and then, bearing those scars, youâll be mine.
Iâll strip you of your name and reduce you to servitude.
Youâll be tasked with the filthiest, most exhausting labor.
Each day, youâll feel the lash of the whip thirty times and spend the nights kneeling in punishment.
â
Her words grew more venomous, her hatred more palpable, culminating in a wild, crazed laughter.
âLucinda, these tortures youâve inflicted on others, itâs time you experienced them yourself!â
Lucinda faced her with an icy gaze.
Despite being bound and at the mercy of Nalaâs sharp blade, not a hint of fear marred her composed demeanor.
This unwavering calm only served to fuel Nalaâs rage further.
She gripped Lucindaâs face tightly.
âWhat infuriates me the most is your perpetual calm, as if youâre in control, as if youâre above everyone else.
What gives you the right to be so arrogant, Lucinda? Just because fortune favored your birth, you think youâre entitled to a life without hurdles, with everyone at your beck and call.
But I refuse to accept that.
Iâll drag you through the mud, turn you into an outcast, incapable of redemption!â
Caught up in her fervor, Nala raised the dagger, poised to slash at Lucindaâs face.
The dagger sliced through the air, honing in on Lucindaâs face with precision.
Just as it neared her skin, she seized Nalaâs wrist with undeniable force.
Nalaâs surprise was evident, her eyes widening at the sight of Lucindaâs hands, which were supposed to be securely bound.
âHow are you not restrained?â she exclaimed.
Previously, when Nala had used Lucindaâs thumb for her fingerprint signature, she had confirmed the tightness of the rope around Lucindaâs hands.
Yet, there Lucinda stood, unfettered, presenting the small blade concealed in her palm.