I said it while trying to sound firm, but the crack in my voice only made Roman smirk in that mocking way.
"Then why did you live separately? For the whole five years?" His eyes gleamed with mischief. "You—" he paused, weighing his words. "You can't get rid of me, Viona. You love me, and you always will."
He lowered his gaze. "You always dug your thumbnail into your index finger whenever you lied. I can read you like a page."
His words made my fists ball instantly.
I bit the inside of my cheek as he made himself comfortable on the sofa without being invited.
The fact that he could still read through me made my stomach twist.
My five years of peace without his shadow, gone, collapsing just because he sat there dissecting me like I was a patient on his operating table.
I was sure whatever I felt for him had died—rotted, shriveled, turned to dust. So why the hell did his presence still hit me like this? It must be the leftover chains of fury clinging like stubborn ghosts.
