Patricia waspletely shaken by what had happened.
She just couldn''t understand how she''d ended up like this. She came from the
best possible background—her father was a man of power, her mother one of the
country''s rare self-made businesswomen—so how on earth had she fallen so far?
All she could do was clutch at the bars between them, fingers tangled in Watts''s
sleeve, her eyes red as she stared at him. “You’ve thought of something, haven’t
you? Watts, you know me—I can’t survive in a ce like that! It’s torture! And for
three whole years?”
She had never, in all her life, felt this kind of fear.
Never could she have imagined tripping up over something like this. If it hadn’t
been Jarrod who was caught with the banned substances, she would have
walked away untouched. But the night before she left for her art show abroad,
Jarrod had pushed her too far. She’d let her emotions get the best of her, let
herself spiral out of control—and, just her luck, that was the night she got caught
red-handed.
Watts nced down at Patricia’s grip, noticing how she’d wrinkled his shirt sleeve.
His obsessive nature recoiled at the sight; he hated things like this, and Patricia
knew it—she just never cared. Only her own feelings ever mattered.
“If there was a way out,” he said, indulging her just onest time, “do you really
think you’d still be here? I warned you ages ago: you and Jarrod were never right
for each other. You trying to dominate him was always doomed to fail.”
Patricia’s eyes were bloodshot, but she managed a bitter smile. “I don’t care about
him. I just wanted to win.”
She stared at him, her voice hardening. “Didn’t you say you liked me? That you’d
do anything for me—even try to get close to Elodie? I’m not going to that hellhole,
Watts. You’ll talk my father into saving me, won’t you?”
The words seemed to echo in the air.
Liked her?
It was true—years ago, he’d said those very words to her.
He’d known since he was seven that he and Patricia weren’t really rted by
blood.
Back then, Patricia hadn’t turned into the person she was now.
It was only after she discovered the truth about herself and fought with her family
that she left the country. From that moment on, she’d spiraled further and further
out of control.
He’d followed her overseas for college, just to be near her.
That was during Patricia’s darkest
days, after Jarrod had left her so
broken and vtile she was nearly
diagnosed with bipr disorder.
Watts had been there for her, seen
her at her lowest. For two years, he
took care of her, but Patricia never
cared about what he thought or
felt—instead, she clung stubbornly to
Jarrod, wasting years of her life.
Later, Watts shed with Jarrod in
business as well, only to lose
spectacrly. Both failures weighed
on him, and he’d never truly moved
on.
But now, looking at the woman in front of him, even his feelings seemed to blur
and fade.
His expression cooled, and he gently
pried her hand off his sleeve.
“There’s nothing to be done. Forget
Jarrod’s revenge—Patricia, I don’t
want to watch you destroy yourself
any further.”
Patricia’s face twisted in disbelief. “You’re abandoning me too? Don’t tell me you
actually like Elodie now? Watts, I won’t allow it!”
At Elodie’s name, Watts stiffened, jaw clenched, then turned away and made for
the door.
Patricia watched his retreating back,
fury burning in her chest. “Watts!
Don’t kid yourself! You know exactly
what you’ve done. As for Elodie’s
kid—don’t forget, I covered for you
half the time!”
Watts froze in his tracks for a moment.
But he didn’t look back—he just walked out.
Elodie spent the next two days quietly resting at home.
After lunch, she and Rosemary sat together in the living room, chatting in the soft
afternoon light.
Partway through their conversation, Rosemary’s phone rang several times.
To Elodie’s surprise, it was Malcolm calling. Her grandmother still had his number
saved—she hadn’t blocked him.
Elodie remembered how, since yesterday, Malcolm’s calls had beening in
over and over.