A Journey from Bitterness to Truth

Everyone thought it was the ultimate humiliation, but the woman before them, Matilda, actually stood up even though she was shaking. She was too thin, painfully so, and it made their hearts

twinge.

A collective pause. Heartache? For this woman?

With a smirk still playing on her lips, Matilda slapped Mia across the face before anyone could recover. In that instant, her features were stunningly beautiful!

Mia, never having been struck in public, touched her cheek and cried out, “How dare you hit

me?”

Immediately, a couple of thugs grabbed Matilda and slammed her back down. Her knees buckled, and she crashed towards the booth’s table. Agony shot through her as she struck it, and she let out a muffled groan, a sound of extreme restraint.

“Mia,” Yvan frowned, “that’s about enough.”

“Ah, Mr. Boyd, you wouldn’t happen to be feeling sorry for your ex–wife, now would you?” Adrian chimed in coolly. “Who’s gonna feel sorry for our dear Mia, then?”

Yvan’s gaze sharpened. “You know she’s my ex?” ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

The room was stunned. They turned incredulously towards the woman pinned to the ground, recognizing something familiar in those features. This woman was Yvan’s ex–wife!

“Mia, darling, I think we ought to punish her properly, lest she still thinks she’s the high and mighty Ms. Thompson,” Ella spoke up, her seemingly casual words strategically pushing Matilda to the brink.

“Ms. Thompson, the heiress?” Mia scoffed. “There’s no Thompson family in Sea City anymore, Matilda. What are you, a prostitute from Golden Society next door?”

Laughter erupted around them, and Mia grabbed Matilda, who was held immobile. She began to pour liquor down her throat. “Drink up! Weren’t you just playing hard to get with Mr. Simpson?

Drink!”

“Mia!” Yvan’s voice rose again, a warning, “That’s enough!”

“Oh, Mr. Boyd, ever the good Samaritan. How about this, Matilda? Beg Mr. Boyd. If he says so, I’ll let you go. How’s that?”

Mia’s words seemed to seal Matilda’s fate. As she looked up, all color drained from her face.

Yvan approached, his body trembling with barely contained concern. He feared she might collapse from whatever agony she was holding back.

As he drew closer, Matilda kept her head down. Her hand was lifted onto the table, and someone said, “This is the hand that struck Mia.”

Her battered right hand was exposed, drawing gasps from the onlookers.

Matilda wanted to laugh. What was this pain? It was nothing compared to the turmoil within herl

“Does It hurt…” Yvan noticed Matilda’s trembling hand and her other hand clutching her abdomen. He asked softly.

“If I say it hurts, will you let me go?” Matilda’s gaze met Yvan’s defiantly, like someone with nothing left to lose.

Silence.

Matilda laughed, a laugh that spoke of deep wounds. “Then I’m not in pain.”

Pain, until it kills you, until your heart dies, and you can’t feel it anymore.