Chapter 1295:
Inside the exclusive villa community, Terrence’s face hardened like stone. He zeroed in on the pair ahead and stared, fists curling tight like he was ready to swing.
“Pull over,” Terrence muttered, his voice dangerously low. That order wasn’t just angry, it was lethal. His eyes burned with jealousy and hate, barely held back.
Christina and Dylan walked side by side, fingers laced like they were made for each other—picture-perfect.
Watching them felt like someone had shoved a blade into Terrence’s stomach and twisted it slowly.
Whatever hope he’d had about seeing her again vanished instantly, replaced by the wreckage of a heart torn to shreds.
“She doesn’t love you.” His grandfather’s voice rang in his head like a curse he couldn’t shake.
A crooked, bitter smile tugged at his mouth as agony surged through his chest, hot and brutal, like boiling water dumped straight onto his heart.
No, she didn’t love him. It couldn’t be more obvious. Deep down, he’d always known. But he’d lied to himself, convinced he could hold onto her, whatever it took.
His fists clenched tighter, jaw throbbing as he bit down hard, saying nothing.
Every time the thought returned that Christina didn’t love him, it felt like someone was carving out his heart with a knife. The hurt never stopped, fueling a deep, bitter fury that kept growing inside him.
He’d been through hell since he was a kid—trained, beaten, molded into his grandfather’s weapon.
Dylan, though? That guy had been pampered and adored by the Scott family from day one.
Their lives were night and day.
Why did Dylan end up with everything? And now, Dylan was about to take the only woman Terrence had ever truly loved. Fate was a sick joke, and Terrence was the punch line.
He and Christina were meant to be. That was how it was supposed to go.
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He had known her first. That should’ve meant something.
If he’d just met her a little earlier… would any of this be different?
Terrence’s jaw ached from how hard he’d been clenching it, every muscle in his body pulled tight, trying to contain the fury bubbling up like acid in his gut.
His fists were locked so hard his nails dug deep into his palms, but he didn’t even flinch. Pain didn’t register anymore. Why did Dylan get everything handed to him on a silver platter? Why did that latecomer get the prize? Why did he get her heart when Terrence had been there first?
Terrence stared at their backs, close, cozy, like they belonged together, and felt his heart shatter into a thousand sharp pieces. He hadn’t even stopped to patch himself up. He’d come running back for her, ready to fight, ready to bleed if it meant she’d notice him, just a little. And this was what he got—watching her wrapped up in someone else’s arms.
Terrence remained silent, staring at them intently, his eyes slowly turning a deep, blood-red.
His whole life, he’d been nothing but a tool. Shaped, sharpened, and aimed by his grandfather to take down the Scotts. And now? Now he wanted Dylan gone. Dead. No hesitation.
If Dylan disappeared, maybe Christina would finally look at him.
Even if it was with hate. He’d take that over being invisible.
“Let’s go,” Terrence snapped, his voice flat, eyes like frozen steel.
He had bigger things to handle now.
“Yes, sir,” the subordinate said, and the car rolled off, melting into the traffic like they’d never been there.
Just a few steps away, Christina paused and glanced over her shoulder, her brows pulling together like something felt off.
“Something wrong?” Dylan asked, voice low, eyes following her gaze.
“Nah,” she said with a soft smile, shaking it off. Probably just her mind playing tricks.
.
.
.