Betrayed by Blood: My Second Life as a Queen novel Chapter 73

Lucian stared at the screen, a flash of utter disbelief crossing his eyes. His heart skipped a beat, and his long, elegant fingers gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white.

What did this mean...?

Had his identity been compromised? Why would Willow randomly block him out of nowhere?

Or was she furious because he had refused to meet her in person?

For a man known for his ruthless, decisive nature, Lucian suddenly felt a rare sense of total helplessness.

A second later, Willow's earlier words echoed in his mind.

Was she actually serious about liking York? Had she cut off contact with other men just for him?

His grip on the phone tightened further, pressing so hard his joints ached.

Thirty seconds later, he dropped the phone onto the sofa in defeat. He pulled a throw pillow over his head and lay there, completely motionless.

Half an hour later, Willow arrived at the apartment.

She pushed the door open, stepping into the dim living room.

Lucian was sitting on the sofa in the dark. He hadn't turned on the lights, and his hair was back to its light blonde color. It made everything she had witnessed at the banquet feel like a bizarre hallucination.

Willow kept her expression blank. She didn't greet him like she normally would, but the moment she walked past the sofa, a hand firmly grasped her wrist.

His voice trembled slightly, sounding hoarse. "Willow..."

For some inexplicable reason, Willow actually felt a twinge of pity for him in that moment.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked down at him. In the shadows, Lucian's skin looked paler than usual, giving him an uncharacteristic air of vulnerability.

A trace of mockery flashed in her eyes. Why was he playing the victim now? Hadn't he enjoyed deceiving her?

He had deliberately used those two fifty-dollar bills to milk her for sympathy.

When she had looked at him with genuine heartbreak, had he been secretly laughing at her the entire time?

Willow slowly pulled her wrist out of his grasp. She was done feeling sorry for men.

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