Aria Joyce didn't wake up until noon the next day.
She rubbed her sore body and sat up. Looking at the empty room, her mind was filled with scenes from the previous night.
'To think that the body she'd preserved for over twenty years was just given away like that—and to a scumbag like Ian Shaw, of all people.' She was filled with such intense hatred, so much hatred!
She hated that asshole Ian Shaw! But she hated Tristan Grayson even more.
She loved Tristan Grayson so much, yet he had actually given her away to a lowlife like Ian Shaw.
The image she saw at the bar that day even flashed through her mind—the scene of Ian Shaw fooling around with some woman in the hallway.
She might as well have been fucked by shit.
Aria Joyce felt like every inch of her body was foul and filthy. It was utterly nauseating.
