A Journey from Bitterness to Truth

Back at her family’s sprawling estate, Willow’s mind kept replaying her standoff with Matilda. The way Matilda had brushed her off with such nonchalance lit a fire in Willow. In a huff, she texted a group of her friends, rallying them for a night of drowning sorrows and mischief at the local pub, never expecting that she’d run smack into Evie.

Evie, the queen of the night scene, was cozied up in Yvan’s arms–a sight to behold since Yvan typically had the emotional range of a stone. His icy exterior was legendary, and the fact that he allowed a lady’s touch was nothing short of a miracle.

Willow stormed over, yanked Evie to her feet, and without so much as a by–your–leave, delivered a stinging slap across her cheek.

Evie might have been the talk of the town, with whispers of a less–than–stellar reputation trailing her like a shadow, but a public face–slapping was a first. She trembled with rage, her scream piercing the boozy hum of the pub, “What the hell! Have you lost your mind?”

Yvan looked up lazily at the commotion, his gaze landing on Willow.

Evie, tears welling in her eyes, ran to him, a perfect picture of wounded innocence. But Yvan just watched, his eyelids barely lifting, the epitome of disinterest.

Willow, face ablaze with anger, turned to Yvan, “Yvan, how could you let this… this tramp touch you?

Yvan shot a derisive laugh back at her. “And who should it be? You?”

Willow stumbled back, her pride as a society darling bruised, eyes rimmed red with the sting of humiliation.

“You once married Matilda! The Matilda! The unrivaled gem of Ashton City, Sea City, River City, and Sapphire City combined! And now you stoop to nightcrawlers like her?”

Evie, clutching her reddened cheek, felt her tears flow freely.

Matilda? Matilda! She wouldn’t let this night’s disgrace go unchecked. How pristine could Matilda be? No matter, she vowed to drag her through the mud, to see her name in tatters.

As luck would have it, Matilda emerged from the restroom right as Bennett Fuller spotted her. Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“Matilda!” he cried out.

The room froze for a fraction of a second, all eyes drawn to the woman at the restroom door.

Under the kaleidoscope of club lights, Matilda stood in a tailored cocktail dress, a delicate chain gracing her clavicle, her hair swept to one side, revealing the elegant line of her jaw and neck. Her lips parted slightly, makeup impeccable, her gaze cool and distant as she moved through the crowd, brushing past admirers.

Yvan felt his throat tighten while Bennett whistled appreciatively, calling out to the bartender,

“Hey! Did you see that dame? Bring her over to our booth!”

That night, a hazy legend took root in Sea City. The scion of the Boyd family and Bennett turned the pub inside out, searching for one woman. Her identity was shrouded in mystery; she seemed both a ghost from the past and a sudden apparition. No one remembered the Matilda of old, nor could they recognize the Matilda of now.

She had an enigmatic allure, like a fine wine maturing into a pure, heady fragrance. At that moment, even Yvan, who usually regarded women as mere diversions, felt a primal urge to claim her. His

devilishly handsome features sharpened, his aura chilling, his eyes glinting with a predatory sharpness.