Chapter 45 Who Do You Think You Are?

Strewn into their mockery was a thinly-veiled accusation: It was all Deirdre’s fault.

How could they be so cruel? She was just as much of a human as they were. She was not an emotionless plaything ! Why must she obey Brendan’s every whim? Because she had been unfortunate enough to become the Devil’s object of obsession ? Because she deserved to be punished for saying yes to becoming Mrs. Brighthall?

Deirdre’s pain was consuming her from within. She seemed to have depleted her entire supply of tears, and now all there was left in her eyes was a bottomless void threatening to swallow her sense of self.

Then, she remembered. Sterling was about to be beaten by a violent mob.

Fingers trembling, she thought of Brendan’s habit and felt her way to the bottom of the driver’s seat. Then, she pulled out a knife.

She turned its pointy edge toward her neck.

the hell are you doing?! Get that thing

me!” Deirdre shouted, digging it close

drew a line, and blood poured like a drawn curtain. She might have lost her sight, but

to conjure the ferocity of cornered prey she looked as though she would severe her own throat

small for two burly men to snatch the

stop, now. And tell Brendan to come

If they f*cked this up … God, there would not be any corpses in the caskets during their eventual funerals! “Alright, princess! You stay right here and don’t let that

his boss immediately. Brendan practically rushed to the car, and it did not take

suicidal are you?!” he shrieked, his body trembling. The cut she had made was deep-and yet she

eyes were red. “Let Sterling go,

knife quivered as her lips moved, deepening the cut. Brendan’s eyes were beet -red, but finally, he howled,” Fine! Fine!” He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and turned to one of his bodyguards. “Stop f*cking standing there like an idiot and tell them to release that bastard! Then tell that piece of sh*t to get

away. Deirdre’s eyelashes

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