The Divorced Heiress’s Revenge



Chapter 2471

Asher leaned down slowly, his bronzed, sculpted muscles flexing with each breath. The dips and ridges of his body stood out sharply, his striking features growing larger in Arnold's stunned gaze.

His brows and eyes were sharp and dazzling, luring him in.

Arnold pressed against the headboard, his breath catching. His mind went blank. His heart still fluttered. 'What now? Ugh! I'm so pathetic and weak...'

Asher braced his arms on either side of him, his dark eyes locking onto Arnold's. Though his pupils were deep black, his love surged like an unrelenting tide, wild and all-consuming.

It felt like last night's madness all over again. All he wanted to do was swallow him whole, melt into him, and never let go.noveldrama

"Arnold, does it still hurt...?"

"Go to hell!" Arnold's crimson, fox-like eyes burned with fury as he slapped Asher across the face.

It was a hard slap. Five distinct finger marks bloomed instantly on Asher's check, which turned red and swollen. Yet, Asher barely felt it because his heart had been aching far worse.

"Asher... I don't just hate you now. What you've done disgusts me!" Arnold shoved him away, his hands trembling, his voice nearly hysterical. "Who the hell told you to touch me?! Who gave you the fucking right?!"

Asher stood frozen, his spine stiff, his expression flickering with helplessness. He looked like a stray dog, drenched and abandoned in the rain. "Last night... At the bar, you drank something you shouldn't have "

"And that gave you the right to interfere?! Who the hell are you to me?! Asher, in my eyes... You are nothing!" Arnold grabbed his scattered clothes from the floor and yanked them on.

He pulled out his wallet from his pocket, ripped out a thick stack of bills, and slapped them against Asher's bare chest.

"Just consider last night a damn transaction! Now get the hell out of my sight and don't ever let me see you again!" With that, Arnold turned and stormed off, his sharp and elegant silhouette vanishing into the night.

The room fell into silence. The only sound left was the heavy, lonely thud of Asher's heartbeat.

"Mr. Thompson!" Yuri rushed in, his face tight with urgency. "Mr. Larson ran off! You finally got to see him how could you let him go?! Even if you had to use underhanded tricks, you should've held onto him!"

But Asher sat motionless, his face pale as paper.

Yuri was more worried than the man himself. He had seen the rise and fall of Asher's last relationship and had watched him be torn apart. He did not want Asher to suffer that agony again.

"Arnold hates me." Asher's voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. He crouched down,

trembling, gathering the scattered bills one by one, clutching them tightly in his palm. "Yuri

... Maybe it's time. Maybe I really need to let go."

Yuri's voice rose a few octaves. "What the hell?! You actually believe that nonsense?! When I get pissed, I say I wanna blow up the White House-should we take that seriously too?! Have you lost your damn mind?!"

"I could throw away my pride, my dignity... I could chase him for a lifetime... But would it matter?" Asher curled into himself, like a crushed soda can, discarded by the only one he had ever loved. "Arnold and I ended things a long time ago. I was just too stubborn to wake up from the dream."

Arnold stepped out of the hotel. The sky was murky gray with a blinding white rift in the middle. Rain poured relentlessly.

A sleek limousine rolled up and stopped in front of him. "Mr. Larson, correct?"

The lobby manager rushed out with a warm smile. "A gentleman arranged a ride for you. The rain is heavy-please get in before you catch a cold."

Arnold narrowed his eyes at the car. "Asher?"

"Huh? No, the one who arranged it wasn't Mr. Thompson."

Arnold's brows furrowed. "Not him? Then who?"

The manager smiled politely. "The gentleman didn't say."

Arnold scanned his surroundings, his sharp gaze sweeping over the area. Nothing seemed amiss. "No need. Thank him for me."

With that, he turned and dashed into the rain.

Meanwhile, in the dimly lit corner of the hotel's first-floor café, a man in a black baseball cap lifted his coffee cup, taking a slow sip. His dark, unreadable gaze followed Arnold's fading figure.