Chapter 6

Vivian's POV

I was carried back to the villa by bodyguards.

My stomach still burned. My throat was full of that metallic taste.

Damien was using disinfectant wipes to clean each finger.

As if the person who'd just forced me to drink until I vomited in that private room wasn't him.

"Sobered up?"

His gaze swept over my disheveled appearance and finally stopped at my long hair.

He used to love my long hair the most.

Every month he took me for treatments. Even the shampoo was imported.

He often said this hair felt like silk and had a nice texture.

"Since you're not dead, let's continue settling accounts."

"You can take those shabby clothes, but anything that belongs to the Lancaster family must stay."

I stood there. The alcohol made my head fuzzy, but I understood what he meant.

I lowered my head and began removing my earrings, necklace, and bracelets.

Finally, I wore only a thin camisole.

"What else?"

Damien didn't tell me to stop.

He walked up to me, his slender fingers winding around a lock of hair.

"This hair, this skin-which part wasn't bought with my money?"

He leaned close to me, his tone so gentle it was terrifying.

"Vivian, if you want to make a clean break, do it properly."

"Taking things I paid to maintain to that man-it makes me sick."

He turned around and took a paper cutter from the drawer under the coffee table.

He threw the blade at my feet.

"Cut it all off cleanly, and I'll let you get lost."

I looked at the blade, then at Damien's emotionless eyes.

He was betting I would kneel and beg him.

But I bent down and picked up the blade.

Without any hesitation.

The blade pressed against the roots of my hair, ice cold and bone-chilling.

Black strands fell to the floor in large clumps.

I hacked away carelessly. The blade cut my scalp. Blood beads seeped out, but I couldn't feel the pain.

I saw the expression on Damien's face finally crack.

He stared at the severed hair on the floor, the hair he'd carefully maintained for twelve years.

"Enough!"

Just as I was about to cut the last strand, he seized my wrist fiercely.

He looked at my hacked-off hair, a towering rage surging in his eyes.

It was the rage of a man whose favorite possession had been ruined.

"You told me to cut it."

I looked at him, my voice hoarse and calm.

"Damien, is it clean enough now?"

"Can I leave?"

Damien was silent for a moment.

Then he sneered and flung my hand away.

His voice was sinister.

"Get out now!"

I didn't linger at all.

I casually threw on an old coat and pushed open the door.

Barefoot, I walked into that cold winter night without looking back.

Damien, loving you was my biggest mistake.