Chapter 1530 Cheap Goods in His Eyes
The handprint was clearly visible across Paul's face—Ann had put real force behind that slap, and the burning sting reminded him of it with every pulse of pain.
Ignoring Alex entirely, Paul's grip tightened around Ann's wrist as he dragged her from the hall, his fingers digging into her skin with bruising intensity.
Shelley moved to follow, but Alex stepped into her path. "Ms. Harper, you don't want to get involved in whatever's between those two."
"What the hell is he planning to do?" Her voice carried a sharp edge of concern.
Alex's laugh held no warmth. "In all these years, how many women have you seen lay a hand on Paul? Even the Adams family elders wouldn't dare cross him like that. That slap just lit a fuse, though he's got enough sense not to actually hit a woman back."
"You're all the same—not a decent man among you." Shelley's voice dropped to barely above a whisper, her gaze falling to the floor as the words seemed to catch in her throat.
Alex lifted a glass from a nearby tray, taking a slow sip. "That depends on how you define 'decent.' We've always judged by intentions, not appearances."
Shelley fell silent, her eyes tracking toward the villa as an uncomfortable quiet settled between them.
Meanwhile, Paul had hauled Ann into the courtyard, his grip unrelenting.
Ann shouted, "Let go of me!"
She twisted against his hold, but he slammed her back against the stone wall with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs.
Pain shot through her spine as he pressed closer, his hand suddenly gripping her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze. The swelling from her slap had already begun to distort his features, and despite everything, Ann felt a twisted satisfaction at the sight.
Paul stared down at her face, and unbidden memories flooded back—images of her beneath him, the way she used to be sick afterward when she was still adjusting to being with a man.
He'd found something perversely satisfying about it then, as if her revulsion mirrored his own hidden truth: he despised women's touch, found even the brush of lips nauseating. He'd rarely kissed Ann in those early days, yet during those brief weeks of his amnesia, he'd kissed her countless times without thinking.
"Three hundred million wasn't enough? You had to keep clinging to me?" His fingers pressed harder against her jaw, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Or maybe you just got addicted to fucking me. Is that it, Ann? Are you really that pathetic?"
From the moment she'd accepted that first payment, she'd been nothing but cheap goods in his eyes.
Ann had endured his cruelty, his rough handling, had even blamed herself for deserving it. She'd never complained, never fought back. But during his amnesia, she hadn't been the one initiating their intimacy—that had been all him.
Now, facing his contempt, her voice seemed trapped in her throat, every word she might have said dying before it could form. The moment she'd fallen in love with him, she'd handed him the power to destroy her completely.
Tears began falling again, landing warm against Paul's knuckles. He flinched at the contact, the heat of them almost burning, and for a split second, he nearly pulled away. Instead, his grip tightened with renewed viciousness as anger, disgust, and frustration crashed over him in waves.
"Take the money and disappear. Pretend we never knew each other." He released her so abruptly she nearly collapsed, but the rage still simmered beneath his skin. When had any woman dared to strike him?
He pulled out a cigarette with shaking hands, lighting it as he sensed her still standing behind him. "I said get lost."
Ann said nothing, pulling her clothes tighter around herself as she limped away. When he'd thrown her against the wall, she'd twisted her ankle, but she'd be damned if she'd show weakness in front of him now.
Only after she'd put considerable distance between them did she stop to examine the damage. Her ankle had swollen grotesquely, far worse than the mark on her face, the skin stretched tight and discolored.
Footsteps approached from behind, and despite everything, hope flickered in her chest. But it was Emily's voice that cut through the night air.
"You heard him in there, didn't you? Paul's getting engaged to the Reed family daughter. You pathetic little whore should crawl back to whatever hole you came from. He saw your face all swollen from where I slapped you, and he didn't say a word—because deep down, he knows exactly what you are. Trash."
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