The first crash shook the estate.
Anton didn't move. He stayed where he was, leaning against the doorway, watching Luna destroy the living room.
Another vase shattered against the marble floor. A shard of glass shot up and cut her right across her palm. But she didn't seem to notice or care.
She was breathing hard, her face filled with rage and desperation as the blood dripped from her clenched hand.
Anton had seen enough.
As she reached for another decoration, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist in the air. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Luna tried pulling her hand out of his firm grip. "Let go!"
"No," he snapped. "I'm tired of your fucking tantrums."
She yanked her hand away and stepped back, chest rising and falling sharply. "Then give me an answer."
"To what?"
"What does she have that I don't? Hm?"
Anton let out a short, dry laugh. "You really want me to list it?"
Luna clenched her fists.
