A Journey from Bitterness to Truth

Chapter 210

No one knew about the tragedy that had unfolded, except for Matilda. She was the sole keeper of that grim secret.

The day Chloe left was like any other she got dressed in her crisp work attire, slipped into her pumps, and headed to the office. When the workday ended, she quietly handed in her resignation letter while no one was looking, tying up all her foose ends before she vanished without a backward glance.

Matilda had wept for her. Back when Chloe was crumpled on the floor, her blood painting a stark contrast against the white tiles, she had clutched Matilda’s hand, her wrist still bleeding profusely.

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“Matilda,” she had whispered, “don’t let Declan touch me. Don’t let him find me.”

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Matilda promised, and from that moment on, there

as though nothing had happened. She went to work, shared laughs and banter with her quirky colleagues, brainstormed new fashion lines in meetings, and kept Chloe’s secret locked away. Nobody in

their last encounter, he had callously tossed her aside like yesterday’s newspaper, not even bothering to help her get dressed. He didn’t spare a thought for the pain she must have endured as she walked away, nor the depths of despair she must

was just a toy, and he regretted not having one last fling before discarding her. But a week of silence had passed, and Chloe hadn’t reached out to him, not a single WhatsApp message or a playful “Mr. Yeager” like she used to. She had once been ever–present, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, all to

an annoying fly that couldn’t be swatted away, always buzzing around him, her voice dripping with a fawning tone whenever she called him “Mr. Yeager.” Yet, to others, she exuded a cold and

well aware that many men coveted her, and he took pleasure in knowing she obeyed only him. Every command he gave, every task he demanded,

men wanted her, but she was his pet.

Declan never considered the possibility that the woman who seemed so resilient, who never complained of pain, might one day admit that

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painful that admission would be

and glanced at his phone. Chloe’s chat was silent; her Facebook untouched for a

never be the one to reach out first. So, with cold finality, he deleted Chloe’s contact, expecting her to come crawling back, begging to be added again. The thought brought