The sudden turn of events hit Anthony so hard he could barely think straight. He stared at Donald, who was doubled over on the couch, clutching his chest where Anthony had kicked him.
How was he supposed to explain that it was all just an accident?
As Anthony spaced out, Donald suddenly sprang up. Everyone watched in shock as Donald balled his fist and swung it straight at Anthony.
Charlotte’s brows knitted together, a cold, dangerous glint flickering in her eyes.
“Anthony…”
Hans caught on and tried to step forward, but someone yanked his arm, pulling him back with surprising strength.
He slammed into the wall, his head spinning. Through the haze, he caught a glimpse of Charlotte’s slim figure darting past him, heading straight for Anthony.
Donald’s fist was coming fast. Anthony’s dark eyes narrowed. He didn’t so much as flinch.
When he saw Lottie rushing over to shield him, he even leaned a little to the side, just out of her reach.
Charlotte’s hand closed around nothing. She whipped her head around, disbelief written all over her face.
The next second, Donald’s punch landed right on Anthony’s face. Blood welled up instantly at the corner of Anthony’s mouth.
Charlotte stared, confused, her anger at Donald burning even hotter.
How dare he hit Anthony?
Donald was just as stunned.
With Anthony’s reflexes, he easily could have dodged. Not only did he not dodge, he’d actually made himself an easier target.
As Donald lowered his fist, he met Charlotte’s icy stare. For some reason, guilt gnawed at him.


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