Chapter 213
Yvan had no idea how he managed to leave Matilda’s ce that day. Her final words had left him
shattered, his armor discarded, his defenses torn asunder. He fled, tearing away from her home as if
chased by demons. His sports car roared down the highway, the windows rolled down, the biting wind
funneling straight into his soul.
His whole body trembled uncontrobly, spasms of pain gripping his chest.
Stumbling into his house like a wounded soldier, he copsed onto the couch, his spirit in tatters.
Gradually, he curled up, fetal–like, as helpless as a newborn, clutching the fabric over his heart as if to
hold himself together.
He felt like a defeated generat, his consciousness in disarray, his breaths shaky and painful. It seemed
even breathing was a stab of agony.
Tears, cold and unbidden, fought to escape the corners of Yvan’s eyes. After a long silence, he let out a
guttural growl, choked by sobs.
He had thought it wouldn’t matter, that he could face this easily. But Matilda’s piercing gaze and the
venom in her words had yed him alive. He felt dissected, pain throbbing through every part of him.
He had never paid her any mind, and had loathed her, so why did her indifference wound him so
deeply?
Was it just a man’s petty possessiveness that caused such agony?
His fingers clenched tightly, but not enough to stop their trembling: He felt as if
he had been stricken by a terrible illness, his own insults to her now reflected
back upon him.
How could he say he regretted it?
He didn’t love her; he couldn’t. And yet, why was the pain so profound?
The night stretched on, each second an eternity, torturing Yvan’s heart.
The pain of losing Matilda seemed, unfathomably, to exceed even the loss of Rachel Archer.
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Chapter 213
The turmoil of the night caused Matilda to bete for work the next day. She
figured she’d get docked for attendance and yawned as she settled back into her seat.
“Rare sight, you beingte,” H twirled her pen nearby. “Thought that was Orson’s trademark.”
No sooner had she spoken than anotherter, Orson, shuffled in, his face the very image of sleep
deprivation. “Morning, folks…”
“Congrattions Orson, you’rete again,” H quipped.
Orson justzily lifted his lids, slumped at his desk, and promptly fell into a nap.
Luna’s fingers flew over her keyboard. “Impressive, he’s totally given up.”
“He makes more in bonuses than his base sry anyway,” H shrugged.
Yoshi sauntered over, his jacket swishing. “Looks like our goddess could use a pick–me–up. How about
a cup of instant coffee?”
Matilda couldn’t help but chuckle, epting the coffee he was handing out to everyone. She then
booted up herputer, ready to tackle another day.
But she didn’t expect Den to show up at their studio.
When she saw him in the reception area, her first instinct was to turn and walk away. But then Den
called out to her, and she had no choice but to stop.
“Luna said someone was looking for me. I didn’t expect it to be you,” Matilda said without even sitting
down, getting straight to the point. “What do you want, Mr. Yeager?”
Den scrutinized Matilda, searching for any crack in herposure, but found
none.
“Where’s Chloe?” he eventually asked, his voice deep and pressing.
Matilda’s silence was as final as death itself.
With an impatient click of his tongue, Den repeated, “Where’s Chloe? I’m not a patient man…”
“She’s dead.” Matilda met Den’s gaze squarely. “Looking for her? Want to light
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Chapter 213
a candle?”
Den’s amber eyes narrowed to pinpoints, a visceral denial rising within him. “That’s impossible!”
“Impossible? The service has already passed.” Matilda’s voice wasced with scorn. “Chloe had no
family; I arranged everything myself. What, you’ve had a change of heart and want to pay your
respects?”
A chill crept up Den’s spine, slow and inexorable.