Chapter 9

Chloe’s face went paper-white. The moment she tried to defend herself, Logan’s lethal glare choked the words right in her throat.

Logan turned to me, irritated and restless.

"Aren't you supposedly hopelessly in love with me? Why the hell are you throwing a tantrum over something so trivial?"

Ah. So he had known all along. He had known, and he had chosen to trample on my devotion anyway.

Two years of blood, sweat, and tears were nothing more than "something trivial" in his eyes.

I didn't answer his question. Walking right up to him, I asked, "I heard you're getting officially engaged after the New Year. Is that true?"

Hearing this, Logan’s posture eased up slightly, though his tone remained patronizingly annoyed. "So what if I am? I told you from day one that we were never going to end up together."

Seeing that I didn't speak, he added magnanimously, "Besides, it's just a business engagement. Jane and I are going to do our own things anyway. If you behave..."

I cut him off: "In all these years, have you ever felt a single shred of genuine affection for me? Even if it wasn't love."

Logan’s face twitched awkwardly, quickly masked by his usual smug vanity.

He paused for a few beats. Under the expectant gazes of his friends, he put on his standard arrogant sneer: "Look in the mirror. Are you even worthy of my affection? But hey, considering you've served me for so many years, I won't dump you even after I get engaged."

He was offering to make me his secret side piece?

Sometimes, I genuinely wanted to crack his skull open to see what kind of garbage was rattling inside.

Even after we had supposedly started dating, Logan was sleeping with different women every other day. When those girls threw tantrums and refused to leave no matter how much cash he threw at them, he’d drag me out as his "official girlfriend" to clean up the mess.

One freezing winter, a scorned girl threw a cup of scalding coffee all over me, blistering my skin. Logan didn't even glance at my burns; he only blamed me for not handling the situation smoothly.

If I voiced the slightest grievance, he would curse at me viciously, calling me a hypocrite pretending to be a saint. He’d shout that if I hadn't refused to sleep with him, he wouldn't have needed to find other women in the first place.

He resented me because I wouldn't let him touch my hands, let alone kiss my lips.

Having seen the parade of random women flowing through his bed, I knew that if he had ever kissed me, I would have vomited straight into his mouth.

And now, even with an official fiancée, he had the audacity to offer me the role of his mistress in front of an entire room of people.

As if he were bestowing some grand royal honor upon me.

It was utterly revolting. It made me want to puke.

Thankfully, it was all coming to an end.

The clock struck midnight. The chimes echoed in the distance, but the private suite fell into dead silence.

Breaking the quiet, I smiled brightly and said:

"Let's break up."