My mind was a chaotic storm of betrayal and disbelief. I saw the blow coming—I could have dodged it, could have broken his wrist before he made contact—but I stubbornly stood my ground. I took the hit.
Smack.
The crisp sound echoed through the room. A stinging heat spread across my cheek.
"My company developed the entire Silverhill Estates!" Samuel roared, his face twisted with arrogance. "You dare take that tone with me? Who the hell do you think you are?"
Before I could recover, he kicked me hard in the chest, sending me sprawling to the floor.
"Trash." He spat the word. "Look at yourself. You're nothing. And you think you still deserve Delia?"
Delia stood nearby, arms crossed. She watched me on the floor—not with pity, but with smug satisfaction.
"I've been sick of looking at you for years, Ethan," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "A delivery boy. That's all you are. Running takeout and packages—how much do you even make? You can't even fill my gas tank."
She stepped forward, her high heel digging sharply into my chest, pinning me down.