Just as I saw the light from the doorway, a foot stomped down hard on my hand.

The sharp pain nearly made me pass out.

"Well, look at that. You crawl pretty fast for someone who's supposed to be dying!"

Julia ground her heel into my hand and shouted to the crowd. "Anya can't help but pull these pathetic little tricks! So much for her acting skills!"

She raised her voice, making sure everyone could hear.

Marco glanced at me, then looked away with even more impatience.

Julia crouched down, her voice a mocking whisper. "Your body must be in so much pain. Dying, hmm? Don't worry—it gets worse."

Under the cover of the dining table, she grabbed a sharp steak knife—and dragged it across my outstretched arm.

The sharp blade tore through my skin.

The cut gaped open, blood streaming across the floor tiles to pool at their feet.

I was numb. I couldn't even scream.

Then a family member shrieked, "Blood! She's bleeding—there's blood everywhere!"

Everyone turned.

Marco's gaze snapped to me. The color drained from his face as he saw the waxy pallor of my skin.

"Anya! Are you hurt?"

He started toward me without hesitation.

A flicker of panic crossed Julia’s face before she quickly stepped between us.

"It's just the sauce from the steak, Marco!"

"Anya, I know you're upset. But lying here on this cold, dirty floor isn't good for you. Come on—let's go somewhere warm and dry and have a nice talk."

"You have to stop this self-pitying act. Stop using Marco's feelings to manipulate him—I feel so sorry for him!"