Undressed By His Arrogance-Chapter 300: Your Boys Stabbed Her Here

She studied him more carefully now, as if reassessing the man she thought she knew. For the first time, Winn saw it clearly: she genuinely didn’t believe he was capable of real violence.

"What I know," Sharona said slowly, choosing each word with care, "is the only thing keeping me alive."

"You misunderstand," he said. "You will die whether or not you tell me."

Sharona swallowed hard.

Winn pointed the knife at her ribs, just below her chest. "Your boys stabbed her here," Winn said quietly. "Shall we see how painful it is?"

"Wi—" Sharona began.

Before the sound could fully form, it shattered into a sharp, animal scream. Winn drove the knife into her flesh. He held the hilt steady, wrist twisting just enough to maximize pain, to make sure she felt every millimeter of steel tearing where it didn’t belong. Her body jerked violently against the chains, metal rattling against concrete.

Winn’s face remained carved from stone as he yanked the knife free, blood following in a dark, wet arc.

"Like I said," he continued, "you are not living past today. You have ten seconds left."

Blood pooled at the corner of Sharona’s mouth, slipping down her chin in a slow, obscene drip. Her breathing turned wet and uneven, each inhale a struggle. "You’re... you’re m-making a m-m-mistake," she slurred.

"Its mine to make." Winn rose to his feet and circled her. He moved behind her now, knelt, bringing himself close again, close enough that she could feel his breath near her ear.

"I have always loved Ivy," he said, and this time his voice changed. It roughened. "I loved Ivy even before Sylvia introduced you to me. You know the stupidest part? I was going to do anything for my sister. Anything. Even give up on love. Even marry you."

He paused, letting that sink in, his gaze unfocused as if he were staring at a past version of himself—naive, hopeful, desperate to keep his family intact.

"I thought you were already her friend," he continued, quieter now. "That you wouldn’t be put off by her excesses. That you’d protect her too. I loved my sister. And you took her from me."

Winn pressed the cold tip of the blade to Sharona’s back, just between her shoulder blades, exactly where memory had etched the truth into him. "You shot her right here, didn’t you?" he murmured. "It was the killing shot."

"Any last words?" Winn asked softly, one final chance offered out of the faint, dying hope that she would finally do one unselfish thing and spill her guts.

"Winn... I’m sorry," she said.

"Wrong answer." With the brutality of a man who had already crossed every line and burned the map behind him, he drove the knife through her back. Muscle gave way beneath steel, the impact sharp and final. He yanked the blade free, not granting her even the dignity of time. Sharona’s body went slack.

Her final breath left her in a broken, wet sound that echoed far longer than it should have in Winn’s ears.

"One more down," he muttered to himself. "One last one to go."

He placed the bloodied knife back on the metal table with care, aligning it neatly. At the sink, he turned the tap and watched the water run red, then pink, then clear. He scrubbed his hands methodically, under the nails, over the knuckles.

When he walked out of the basement, he met the men on guard at the foot of the stairs. Their faces gave nothing away. Professionals.

"Sam told you what to do?" Winn asked, already knowing the answer.

One of the men nodded once. Winn slid his hands into his pockets and stepped outside where Sam waited, leaning against his car, cane planted firmly at his side.

Engines started one by one. They got into their cars and drove off into the night.

*****

Ivy was already home, curled beneath soft sheets, the bedside lamp casting a warm glow. She was halfway through convincing herself she’d actually get a full night’s sleep when the door creaked open and her grandfather stepped inside.

"Hey, Gramps?" she murmured, pushing herself up on her elbows. "When did you get back?"

Sam hummed. "Few minutes ago." He crossed the room slowly. "You okay, sweetheart?"

"Yeah," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Tired. Sleepy." She smiled faintly.

"Well, someone wants to talk to you. I guess I better tell him to fuck off, uhn?" Sam smiled.

"Wait—no!" she blurted, far more urgently than she meant to. She pushed herself upright in bed so fast the sheets tangled around her legs. Her hand shot out toward Sam. "Please. I—he said he’d call."

Sam arched a brow, amused now, thoroughly enjoying himself. With exaggerated slowness, he handed the phone over. "No funny business," he warned, pointing a finger at her.

Ivy rolled her eyes. "Oh my God, Gramps," she muttered, already swiping the screen and angling the phone toward her face. Winn’s image filled the screen.

"Hey, babe," Winn said.

"Hi," she replied softly, her mouth curving into a smile.

From the doorway, Sam leaned in and shouted, "You hear me, Winn? No funny business!"

Winn didn’t even miss a beat. "No promises, old man," he shot back, lips twitching with amusement.

"You’re old," Sam countered instantly, wounded pride thick in his tone.

Winn laughed. "Takes one to know one."

Sam huffed, shook his head, and finally exited the bedroom.

The door clicked shut.

"Did you watch the interview?" Winn asked.

"Yeah," Ivy said. "You were... brave." She paused, then added quietly, "How long do you think it’ll take Tom before he reacts?"

Winn exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting briefly to the ceiling before coming back to her. "Depends on a few other factors."

She frowned. "What factors?"

"Babe," he said gently, "I can’t tell you."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because," Winn replied honestly, settling deeper into the pillow, phone steady in his hand, "you will hate me. And I cannot afford that right now."

"What did you do?" Ivy asked. Her brows drew together, eyes searching his face on the screen, reading the tension in the set of his jaw, the way his shoulders seemed too still—as if he were holding himself together by force of will alone.

(200 power stones. Lets go 400!!!)