Marla’s POV
“Jason! Ahh!”
“Shane! Fuck! I’m cumming!”
The pain I felt from what I was hearing was unbearable. I couldn’t see it, but I could imagine what was happening to them. That image, that feeling—it hurt deep inside. At that moment, I knew what I had to do—I made the decision to cut them off completely.
I walked back to the administrator, my mind a mess, and then I saw Chestnut. Even though it wasn’t easy, I couldn’t help but feel attached to Chestnut in some way. After all, the poor horse was being dragged into all this chaos. I didn’t want the first-place horse that Jason bought for me. I just wanted it to go back to its original owner.
“Please, just give it back to the original owner,” I said. My voice echoed with anger and pain. Before I left, I warned them, “Before Jason asks, tell him it was my order.”
I turned around before anyone could respond.
When I returned to the mansion, everyone was surprised to see me come back by myself. “Lady Marla, where’s Lord Jason?” they asked, but I didn’t answer any of their questions. I just walked straight to our room.
Once inside, I let everything go. I started tearing apart everything that had anything to do with him. His things—his figurines, his clothes—I threw them around, ripping them apart. Even the gifts he gave me. The shoes, the bags—everything. I wanted it all gone!
I walked out, and the servants were standing there, watching me. It was like they could hear the destruction I was causing inside. “What? Why are you staring?!” I shouted at them. They all flinched, scared, and immediately ran off in all directions. But I wasn’t done. I wasn’t satisfied yet.
I went to the living room and smashed the TV, destroyed everything he owned—anything I knew he’d bought with his money. It was all chaos. The maids and servants could only watch, helpless, as I raged through the house.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Then, I saw him—Matthew. He stood there, watching me, probably trying to figure out what to say. He opened his mouth, but I cut him off with a cold stare.
“Proceed according to the plan,” I whispered.
Matthew was taken aback by what I said. “Are you sure, Lady Marla?” he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I replied, my voice loud, even though I couldn’t stop myself from yelling. “I’ll make him regret this! I’ll make sure he pays for what he’s done!”
I was determined. My plan was simple: I would make it look like I had been in a car accident. I knew it would shake him, and Matthew could sense the intensity in my words.
“Yes, Lady Marla. I’ll arrange everything,” Matthew responded, bowing his head as if he had no choice but to follow my lead.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I had to keep my composure, even though I could feel the madness creeping in. But... I had loved him. And in the end, it was only pain that was left.
I told the servants to clean up the mess, and it didn’t take long for Jason to storm into the mansion. His footsteps echoed through the hall, sharp and deliberate. When he saw me, he walked straight toward me, his expression dark and unreadable, though there was a flicker of frustration in his eyes.
"Why did you leave without a word?" His tone wasn’t frantic—it was sharp, cold, and demanding. "And why didn’t you accept the first-place horse I arranged for you?"
There was no warmth in his voice, just a calculated edge. He didn’t care about me or the horses. This was about him—his pride, his image.
"I don’t care about horse racing," I said firmly, my voice icy. "And I don’t care about that horse."
For a moment, he just stared at me. His piercing gaze bore into mine, as if he were dissecting me, trying to measure how far he could push. But I didn’t flinch. I kept my expression cold, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing what I was thinking.
Then, without warning, he grabbed my arm and pulled me close. His grip was firm, almost possessive, and his voice dropped to a low murmur. "You don’t have to care about the races or the horses," he said. "But you will care about me. And I’ll make sure of it."
His words weren’t a promise—they were a command.
I pull my arm free and shoved him back, glaring at him. "Do whatever you want, Jason," I said with disdain, my voice steady despite the anger bubbling inside me.
He didn’t react, his face a mask of calm authority. He didn’t need to raise his voice or show his emotions. He was the kind of man who didn’t need to win arguments—he controlled them.
"Dinner’s ready," I added, my tone cutting, before turning my back on him and walking away.
You’ll see my vengeance, Jason. You’ll regret this.
