"He's not mine," she said, voice like glass cracking. "He was never mine. How could I have given birth to such kind of a kid? He is just like his father, cold-blooded!" Recalling that she had called him when she was kidnapped and didn't do anything, saying it was a game she was playing, her heart had totally turned cold.
If that masked man hadn't rescued her from that brothel, where could she be at the moment? How many men could she have slept with? How many clients could have been served by now? Could she still be alive?
She felt goosebumps crawling all over her body and immediately retched, vomiting all the porridge she had drunk into a bucket that was close by feeling nauseous and disgusted.
You could suddenly see a change in her skin and body motions.
