Page 120 of Beautiful Agony

Nothing but a solid wall in front of me, lined with mirrors that reflect my terrified face back at me. Behind me, those measured footsteps grow closer.

No no no...

I spin around, pressing my back against the wall. My hands cradle my belly protectively as Kirsan's shadow appears at the end of the hallway.

He approaches me with slow, measured steps.

Despite the knife in his hand, I see tears glistening in his pale, predatory eyes. Each step echoes off the mirrored walls, mixing with the distant sounds of chaos and screaming.

"You took her from me," he says, his voice cracking. "My Sayavochka. My precious daughter."

I press harder against the wall, my hands protectively cradling my belly. Larina kicks again, as if sensing my terror.

"She loved him. Truly loved him." Kirsan's cultured accent makes the words sound almost musical, even as venom dripsfrom each syllable. "And what did yourhusbanddo? He put a bullet in her head like she was nothing."

My throat feels too tight to speak. All I can do is watch as he moves closer, the knife glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights.

"I want Vadim to feel what I felt." A tear rolls down Kirsan's cheek. "That's why I didn't kill him. Just... slowed him down. He'll come for you, his precious wife carrying his precious child." His lips curl into a grotesque smile. "But he won't make it in time."

Kirsan raises the bloody knife, still wet with Vadim's blood. "When he gets here, I'll make him watch as I cut your child from your belly. Let him feel what I felt. Let him watch his family die. It's only fair, don't you think?"

The clinical detachment in his voice makes my blood run cold. This isn't rage or madness – this is calculated cruelty. He means every word.

My hand fumbles behind me, desperate to find anything I can use as a weapon. Sweat trickles down my spine as Kirsan advances. My fingers brush against something warm and metallic—a curling iron still plugged in.

I wrap my fingers around the handle, never taking my eyes off the knife.

Kirsan takes another step closer, raising the blade still wet with my husband's blood.

That's when I swing.

The curling iron catches him across the face with a sickening crack. Before he can recover, I press the scorching barrel againsthis cheek. The sound and smell hit me at once—sizzling flesh and burning hair.

Bile rises in my throat but I force myself to hold on, to keep pressing even as he howls in agony.

The knife flashes wildly as he slashes at me. White-hot pain explodes across my arm. I cry out, the curling iron falling from my grip as blood wells from the gash.

I try to run, to get past him while he's still reeling from the burn. But his hand shoots out and yanks at the carpet beneath my feet. The world tilts and spins. I barely manage to twist my body, protecting my belly, as I land hard on my back. The impact knocks the wind from my lungs.

Through tear-blurred vision, I see Kirsan looming over me. Half his face is an angry red welt, already beginning to blister. But his eyes... his eyes are completely empty as he stares down at me.

Like a devil risen from hell itself, come to claim my soul.

"That was very stupid, little thief," Kirsan says, touching the angry red welt on his face. His empty eyes flash with something worse than rage. "I've changed my mind. I won't cut the child out anymore."

My heart leaps for a moment before his next words freeze the blood in my veins.

"I'll kill it in your womb instead. It's all the same."

His foot connects with my face before I can process the words. Pain explodes through my jaw as copper fills my mouth. Through tear-blurred vision, I see his other foot rising, aiming for my swollen belly.

Pure instinct takes over. I kick up hard, deflecting the blow meant for our daughter. Larina kicks inside me, as if sensing the danger.

"You fucking whore!" Kirsan screams, raining down more kicks. "Just like your husband's mother!"

I curl around my belly, using my arms to shield our baby as his boots swing back for another vicious kick. I manage to block it again. But one kick after another come towards me, hitting my arm, my shoulder, my face.

Each impact sends fresh waves of agony through my body, but I refuse to move.

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