Winston's expression was nowhere near the smile that had been etched on his face when he had arrived in front of Annasthasia. The earlier mockery had completely vanished, replaced by something far uglier and far more honest.
His face was filled with annoyance. The muscles along his jaw tightened; for fifteen years, he had tried to bend the will of this woman; he could not understand what was fueling her. What hope had he left to shatter to see defeat in her eyes?
In fact, if earlier her eyes felt calm, then right now they were fiery, as if something had reignited her spirit.
"Well, if you don't want to believe me, it's your choice, but don't forget that your life is in my hands. Do you even know why I have not killed you till now?" he asked with a sinister expression on his face. He came close to the cellar bars and slammed them with his hands, looking at Annasthasia aggressively.
The metal groaned under his grip.
