Chapter 167

Emily had barely taken two steps when the sound of a car door slamming open echoed behind her.

She whirled around to see William Johnson stumbling out of the vehicle. The girl was drenched, her collar torn, lips swollen and bleeding.

Emily's pupils constricted sharply.

William steadied herself, only then noticing Emily standing just a few feet away. She opened her mouth but said nothing, turning to leave instead.

As they brushed past each other, Emily suddenly raised her hand.

Slap!

The sharp sound of the strike reverberated through the empty garage.

Before William could react, a second slap landed on her cheek. The searing pain made her vision blur.

"You bitch!" Emily hissed through gritted teeth, raising her hand for a third strike—only for a strong, bony hand to clamp around her wrist.

"Enough."

William Johnson's voice was icy. He was soaked, water dripping from his disheveled hair, a fresh bite mark visible on his lip.

Emily stared at him in disbelief. "You're protecting her?"

William wiped the blood from his lip with his thumb and chuckled darkly. "Just a plaything." He released Emily's wrist and instead pulled her close by the waist. "I was worried you'd hurt your hand."

William swayed slightly on her feet.

She turned slowly, her gaze sweeping over the two of them locked in an embrace, then walked away without looking back.

Emily watched her retreating figure, an inexplicable sense of defeat creeping over her.

"William," she softened her voice, "promise me you won't see her again, okay?"

William guided her toward the elevator. "Did you see anything you liked at the show today?"

"Plenty," Emily smoothly changed the subject. "Should I have my assistant send you the pictures?"

"No need." William pressed the elevator button. "Buy them all."

In the pouring rain, William hailed a taxi.

Back in her apartment, she sank into the bathtub. The hot water rose past her chest, but it couldn't dispel the bone-deep chill.

The word plaything cut into her heart like a knife.

She should have known. Those three months of tenderness had been nothing but a transaction—yet she'd foolishly believed it was real.

The water grew cold. William dried herself and examined the marks on her face in the mirror.

The girl staring back at her had hollow eyes.

Suddenly, she raised her hand and slapped herself hard across the face.

"Wake up," she told the mirror.