A Journey from Bitterness to Truth

Matilda was unceremoniously tossed onto the passenger seat of Yvan’s sports car, clad only in a bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her. The moment Yvan hit the gas, the car roared to life, shooting off into the night like a bullet from a gun.

The distance from Mason’s place to Yvan’s secluded villa was a solid twelve miles, but with Yvan’s reckless speeding, the trip took mere dozens of minutes. Upon arrival he barely paused to scan his fingerprint to unlock the door before storming upstairs and dumping Matilda onto the massive bed.

The world spun around Matilda as if she were caught in a maelstrom. Her vision blurred and the drugs coursing through her system left her as helpless as a fish out. of water, gasping for breath on the shore.

Suddenly, there was a weight upon her. With no strength to fight back or even to open her eyes, she struggled to see who was looming over her, but could only make out a hazy silhouette.

A familiar warmth and scent enveloped her, and in her confusion, she murmured a

name, “Yvan.”

After that, her consciousness was a blur, a sensation of falling into darkness, disintegrating, vanishing. Tears silently soaked into the sheets, mirroring the silent agony that screamed within her heart.

When Matilda awoke the next day, the bed beside her was empty. Memories of the previous night flooded back, sending a shiver through her scalp as she glanced

around the room.

Her movement caught the attention of the man in front of her, who was in the midst. of a video conference.

Yven turned his attractive fair face towards her, the scholarly coolness of his glasses rendering him a tinge of refined rascal vibe. He was dressed in a turtleneck sweater, the morning light casting a soft golden halo around him, giving him an air of casual. elegance.

Matilda stared at Yvan for what felt like an eternity before he let out a derisive chuckle. “What’s the matter? Did the drugs scramble your brain?”

She shot up, realizing she was naked, and quickly retreated back under the covers.

Her panicked expression didn’t escape Yvan’s notice, and his smirk deepened,

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“Looking for clothes?”

Matilda stayed silent, her shoulders trembling slightly. She was afraid of him.

With a click of his tongue, Yvan strode over to the wardrobe, flung it open, and tossed a woman’s blouse at Matilda, “The stuff you left behind five years ago is annoying, so I moved it all here.”

The implication was clear: these clothes, these remnants of her, didn’t deserve to be in the Boyd Mansion.

Bearing the brunt of Yvan’s scorn, Matilda dressed hurriedly, and then grabbed a pair of leggings from the wardrobe. Her legs were long and slender, the kind of well–proportioned that spoke of grace rather than undernourishment.

Yvan’s gaze lingered on Matilda’s legs, and his eyes darkened.

Standing up, Matilda felt the aching soreness throughout her body, a testament to Yvan’s rough handling the night before. She covered her face with her hands in frustration, leaning against the wall next to the wardrobe for support as if to steady herself through a few deep breaths. After a long while, she finally spoke softly to Yvan, “I’m leaving.”

Just like that, after the intimacy night, she thought she could walk away.

Yvan’s lips curled into a cold smile, speaking up, “Wait a second.”

As Matilda turned, he tossed her phone to her, “Don’t forget this. Wouldn’t want you to be unreachable if someone needs to contact you.”

His last words were said though gritted teeth, clearly insinuating something.

Matilda slid the phone into her pocket and straightened her back, “Whoever tries to contact me is none of your business.”

“Matilda, is that how you treat your savior?” Yvan’s eyes narrowed; his gaze following her slender figure.

Matilda laughed, “I never asked for your help!”