Dexter stared at Angela's face for a long moment before speaking.
"You've been looking down these past couple of days. Is something on your mind?"
Angela stared off into space, lost in her thoughts.
He waved a hand in front of her eyes. "Are you okay?"
Angela jolted back to reality, meeting Dexter's deep, dark gaze. Her heart trembled for a second before she quickly averted her eyes.
"I'm fine. I'm going to bed. Do as you please."
That night, the bedroom was pitch-black. Angela tossed and turned for a long time before finally drifting into sleep.
"Angie… Angie…"
Half-conscious, she seemed to hear someone calling her name. She opened her eyes and saw a familiar figure before her.
She immediately sat up and bowed slightly. "Mr. Lawson."
Henry was in his 50s. His expression was solemn, and he exuded an undeniable air of authority.
"Do you regret it now?" he asked, a cold sneer on his lips. His sharp gaze pierced straight through her, as if searching the depths of her soul.
Angela's heart sank. A wave of pain spread through her. It was suffocating and unbearable. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn't dare to lift her head—she didn't dare to look at him.
"Mr. Lawson… I-It's all my fault… I made the wrong choice back then…"
Angela's shoulders trembled slightly, and tears fell down her face. But regret was all she had left.
"Pitiful… Truly pitiful…"
A sorrowful sigh echoed in the air. Angela's nose stung, and she couldn't hold back her sobs any longer.
She had once said she would give up everything just to marry Dexter. She had thrown herself into what she'd thought was love, like a moth to a flame.
And now?
She had been slapped in the face by reality.
"Angela? Angela?"
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