Page 91 of Pastel Kisses

That last word is deliberate. Mine.

A twitch jumps beneath her right eye, betraying her rage. She doesn’t like my confidence, or the reminder that I’ve still got fight left in me.

“It doesn’t matter,” she spits. “You won’t be alive to worry about it.”

And then—like it’s a magic trick—she pulls something from behind her back. A glint of silver catches the light.

A knife.

Not small. Not subtle. Long and gleaming, like it was pulled from a horror film. She brandishes it like it’s a prize. Her fingers tremble around the handle, not with fear—but excitement.

My chest tightens. My breath shortens.

This isn’t just a threat anymore. It’s a countdown.

But then—boom.

A loud crash rattles the air. The sound echoes from the front door, making the walls tremble. Sarah flinches, turning toward the source. Her attention wavers for just a second.

The guys. They’re trying to break the door down.

Now, Avery.

My body coils. The electric charge of fight or flight pulses through me, every muscle straining, desperate for action. This is it. My opening.

I inhale, centering myself, eyes locked on the threat in front of me.

You have one shot. Make it count.

A voice I can’t name—quiet but firm—whispers through the chaos.Move.

Without hesitation, I lunge forward, shielding my belly with one hand while swinging a statue I grabbed from the side table with the other. It’s heavier than it looks, but I put every ounce of strength I have into the motion. The statue misses Sarah’s face by inches, but connects with her wrist—the one holding the metal bar. It clatters to the ground, a small victory.

But pain sears through me a moment later.

A sharp sting cuts across my cheek, followed by warmth. My scream echoes through the room as blood drips down my face, the tang of iron already on my lips.

Sarah recoils, cradling her hand to her chest, her expression twisted in pain. “You ruined everything!” she hisses through clenched teeth. Her fingers look damaged—maybe broken—but she doesn’t stop.

My grip on the statue tightens, the ache in my arm forgotten under the tidal wave of adrenaline. I meet her eyes through the blur of red, refusing to show fear. If I go down, it won’t be quietly.

She flinches, just slightly, like she didn’t expect resistance. Good.

“You thought this would be easy?” I ask, voice low and steady, despite the burning in my skin. “You thought I’d just let you take everything from me?”

She answers with a wild swing, her knife slicing into my shoulder. I cry out but manage to land another blow with the statue, catching her in the ribs. She stumbles back, breath knocked from her lungs.

Behind us, the pounding on the door grows louder—frantic. Hope flutters inside me, but we’re not safe. Not yet.

“You won’t get out of here,” I tell her, circling carefully, mirroring her steps. “You’re not taking me. Or my baby. Or Jaxton.”

But she just laughs, like this is all a game.

“There’s a tunnel,” she sneers. “Old service access through the kitchen. Cleared it myself. Your precious security team didn’t even think to check.” Her eyes gleam with pride, as if she’s proud of outsmarting us.

And maybe she has.

But I won’t let her win.

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