Ashlyn's hands curled into fists on the floor. Her nails dug into her palms until they bled. The physical pain of the struggle was nothing compared to the searing agony of that comparison.
She stood up. The sting of the comparison was worse than the sting of a lash. It pierced through her pride, her ego, and the fragile sense of superiority she had clung to ever since her rebirth. To be compared to Marissa, the woman she had always looked down upon, the woman she had destined for a fiery death, was unbearable. But to be told she was lesser than Marissa by her own husband? That was a declaration of war.
She strode across the room, her steps heavy and furious, closing the distance to the bed where Carlos lay, looking smug as he closed his eyes.
"What did you say?" she hissed, her voice trembling with rage.
