I didn't even glance in her direction. Instead, I kept my gaze locked on Dylan, whose face had darkened with fury.
"Dylan," I said, my voice thick with sarcasm, "you're still clueless—calling a squawking chicken a swan."
Amara's face turned a deep shade of purple, her fury barely contained.
With the help of his bodyguards, Dylan straightened up and pushed Amara behind him in a protective gesture—just like he had three years ago.
"Elaine, no matter how much you cling to me, I will never give you another chance," Dylan said, his voice colder than I had ever heard it. "I love Amara's purity and gentleness. In her world, there's only me. Unlike you, who only cares about your stage and your reputation. You took my money, climbed up on the Hartman name, and showed your selfish, materialistic core. A woman like you will never have my love."
His gaze was ice-cold, full of disdain, like I was nothing more than trash to him.
"I don't care what you've been up to these past three years, or how you wormed your way into this party," Dylan sneered. "But at my family's doorstep? A cripple like you doesn't even have the right to show your face with us, Elaine."