Isaac Whitney was a mountain of a man—over two hundred pounds of aggression and entitlement. His fists came down hard, relentless. For a moment, I crumbled under the assault, unable to defend myself against the sheer weight of his violence.
The relatives cheered from the sidelines like spectators at a bloodsport.
"Get her, Isaac! Teach her a lesson!"
"Women need a firm hand. If you don't beat them, they don't listen. Look at this mess—all that good food wasted!"
"That's my boy! Don't let her walk all over your mother!"
After a flurry of blows, the alcohol caught up with him. He staggered back, chest heaving, energy spent.
I forced myself up through the pain. My body screamed in protest, but adrenaline kept me standing. I wiped blood from my lip and scanned the dining room, a cold smirk touching my face.
"Nobody leaves." My voice was steady despite the trembling in my limbs. "The police are on their way. I'll see every single one of you behind bars."
