Rachel's eyes flew wide with panic, her pupils shrinking as fear surged through her like ice water. Her hands shot up instinctively, clawing at Poppi's wrist in a desperate bid to loosen the iron grip tightening around her neck. "S-Senior Madam..." she rasped, barely managing to force the words past her constricted throat. Her voice, once laced with cocky bravado, now trembled—small, broken, and utterly stripped of confidence. The arrogant veneer she'd flaunted just minutes ago had shattered completely, replaced by raw, naked terror.
Poppi didn't flinch. She leaned in slowly, deliberately, her breath brushing Rachel's cheek like the chill of winter. Her eyes—cold, pale, unblinking—locked onto Rachel's with a deadly calm. "You've been lying to me, Rachel," she whispered, her voice low and razor-sharp. "And I don't take kindly to being lied to."
