Inwardly, he whispered an apology: Marguerite, I’m sorry. When all this is over, I’ll make it up to you. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.
But those words never made it past his lips.
“Benjamin, you’re blind—blind in your eyes, blind in your heart! You can’t even tell right from wrong!”
Marguerite spat out each word, her jaw clenched so tightly it seemed every syllable was wrenched from between her teeth, each one heavy with anger and contempt.
Benjamin’s brows drew together in a faint frown. He leaned in close, his voice low and resolute, leaving no room for argument. “I owe this to Fiona. If you love me, help me now.”
“I don’t love you anymore.”
Marguerite’s reply came without hesitation. Though her voice was barely above a whisper, it was unwavering, as if she’d summoned every last ounce of her strength to say it.
Matthew Howell’s lips curled into a mocking smile. He clapped slowly, his sarcasm filling the room. “Well, look at that! Mr. Foster, sacrificing his own girlfriend for the greater good. Truly inspiring courage.”
“Since we’ve found her, let’s get rid of her already. Maybe she’ll appreciate a swim,” Marcus Howell sneered, waving the bodyguards forward.
The men didn’t hesitate. They strode over and seized Marguerite’s arms, their grip so harsh it felt like her bones might shatter.
Marguerite’s hair was a tangled mess, strands plastered to her face, her clothes rumpled and stained from her earlier fall, bruises blooming along her arms.


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