George's POV
The crystal glass gleamed under the dim lights of Midnight Oak's VIP section as I poured another finger of Macallan 25 for Keith Dunn. His face was a mess of purple bruises and swollen flesh. He winced as the amber liquid burned down his throat.
"So you're saying Anna Shaw was behind this?" Keith's eyes narrowed, his ego clearly more bruised than his face.
I sighed dramatically, letting my shoulders slump forward. "Keith, don't take it personally. She's done worse to me, her own former father-in-law." My lungs ached with phantom pain, a souvenir from that night tied to a tree in freezing temperatures. "This woman... she appears refined, but she's more ruthless than most men I've encountered."
"You're afraid of some spoiled bitch?"
He scoffed, draining his glass in one defiant gulp.
I refilled it promptly, carefully concealing the cold satisfaction blooming in my chest. The insult had landed exactly as Id hoped.
