Yvan’s face was grim, and he didn't say a word.
“And why is your hand bleeding?” Monica asked, gently taking it in hers.
“What on earth happened between you and Winifred? Did you two get into a fight?” she asked, her voice filled with worry. “Don’t tell me you hit her.”
Yvan had never been one to take a hit without giving one back. If someone landed a punch, he’d return it tenfold.
A cold sneer touched his lips. “Me, hit her? As if I’d dare.”
She's already hit me three times!
Monica breathed a sigh of relief. As long as he hadn't hit Winifred, that was what mattered. She knew he hadn’t raised a hand to a woman since he was a teenager; Yvan was still a gentleman, after all.
Still, for a man with his pride, being slapped by a woman had to be the ultimate humiliation. Was it really over between them for good?
“Yvan, what happened between you and Winifred? Is there really no chance for you two anymore?”
Is there really no chance for us anymore?
Yvan’s mind was a chaotic mess. “Just drop it,” he said impatiently. “I’m leaving.”
“Hey, Yvan… Oh, honestly!”
Monica sighed. It seemed all her efforts had been for nothing. Not only had they not made up, but things were now even worse.
As Winifred came downstairs and headed for the exit, Owen called out to her. “All changed, Ms. Spencer?”
Winifred stopped. “Yes. Why are you still here, Mr. Turner?”

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