A Journey from Bitterness to Truth

Chapter 89

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.

attention of the man in front of her, who was in the

vibe. He was dressed

out a derisive chuckle. “What’s the matter? Did the drugs

shot up, realizing she was naked, and

expression didn’t escape Yvan’s notice, and his

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Chapter 89

“Looking for clothes?”

her shoulders trembling slightly.

tongue, Yvan strode over to the wardrobe, flung it open, and tossed a woman’s blouse at Matilda, “The stuff you left

remnants of her, didn’t deserve to be

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

gaze lingered on Matilda’s legs, and his eyes

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.”