"I don't want your money, Clive. I want your love!"
Kristen was standing right in front of him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of softness. But Clive wasn’t looking at her—not really. His gaze was far away, lost somewhere she couldn’t reach.
"Amelia never cried in front of me. Not once. She never asked me for anything," he said, his voice flat and distant.
Maybe that’s why he’d always assumed she needed nothing from him. All the things he did felt pointless, like nothing he gave would ever matter. Maybe that’s why Kristen’s arrival had been so exciting at first—a woman who loved him openly, who was smart but never tried to outshine him, someone who wore her heart on her sleeve and wasn’t afraid to beg him for love. It fed every bit of his ego.
"I used to like you," Clive admitted. A tiny smile flickered on his lips, but it faded fast. His eyes went cold, all the warmth gone, replaced by a look that made her shiver. "Your little jealous games, the way you tried to keep my attention—it was cute for a while. But now? I’m over it."
Even the most interesting game gets old after you play it too many times.
Kristen just stared at him, frozen, feeling the cold seep into her bones. Tears clung to her lashes, threatening to fall.
"Clive… what are you saying? How can you just get tired of me?"
He shook her hand off with no effort, and she collapsed to the floor like a rag doll, completely discarded.
Clive stood over her, looking down from above.
"What’s in the agreement is compensation," he said. "Think of it as payback for all those years you wasted on me. For almost dying in the hospital when you gave me your blood. Whether you take it or not, that’s your choice." He didn’t even pause as he strode past her.
He grabbed his coat and tossed out one last, cold line. "You have five days. Stay here if you want, but I’m not coming back."
Kristen watched him leave, his back straight and uncaring. She forced herself up, her eyes landing on a fruit knife lying on the table.


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