His bloodshot eyes locked onto me as he gritted his teeth. “Do you really still pine for Henry that much? Is one glimpse of him enough to satisfy you?”
“Yvonne, are you a masochist?” His voice trembled with suppressed rage.
For three years, he had tormented me in every way imaginable, believing that I was still in love with Henry.
And for three years, I had stubbornly refused to deny it.
The pure, youthful love we once shared had long since been twisted beyond recognition in our endless cycle of pain and revenge.
Seeing my silence, Elijah’s emotions spiraled further out of control.
"Or are you short on money again?" he hissed.
My mother's illness was like a bottomless pit, making it nearly impossible for me to leave Elijah.
His gaze, filled with disdain and mockery, pierced me like a needle.
"Of course. What else would I come to you for, if not money?" I countered sarcastically.
Just like how, whenever he came to me, it was only for sex.
For a split second, a flicker of shock crossed his face, quickly replaced by a simmering fury.
"Yvonne, even the women selling themselves on the street have more dignity than you."
As he spat, a black card landed at my feet.