"And now she's thrown it all away."
I couldn't hold back anymore. The scream tore out of me.
"I told you—I didn't take her there!"
But Rupert's gaze drifted to Yolanda, still sobbing on the couch. His expression didn't waver.
He walked over and wrapped an arm gently around her shoulders.
Yolanda immediately buried her face in his chest, crying harder.
"So what?"
He cut me off, his voice dropping low.
"Are you saying Yolanda deliberately let those men put their hands on her?"
"She's innocent. Not stupid."
"You just couldn't stand having her around!"
"So you dumped her in a place like this. You wanted to destroy her!"
Riiip!
Before I could react, he grabbed my blouse and tore it open.
Bare skin flashed white under the dim lights—too much of it, exposed and vulnerable.
I wrapped my arms around myself instinctively, curling inward, desperate to cover what I could.
But Rupert seized my wrists and wrenched them apart.
"What an act."
"You were trash before I ever met you."
"And now you're trying to drag my sister down with you?"
Yolanda's sobs grew louder.
Only then did Rupert release me. He returned to the couch and pulled her back into his arms.
He kissed her forehead, patting her back like she was a child.
"Don't be scared. I'm here."
Then he shot me an icy glare, his voice dripping with impatience.
"What are you waiting for? Get her out of here!"
Madame Rose rushed forward and grabbed me.
My mother lunged to stop her, but Rupert's bodyguards seized her and dragged her aside.
Just like that, Rupert had me hauled to the club.
Thrown into a private room.
My knees slammed into the marble floor. The pain exploded half a second later.
Madame Rose pressed down on my shoulders, forcing me to sit.
"Mrs. Sanchez, don't blame me. Blame yourself for crossing Mr. Sanchez."
Soon, the door opened.
Several men walked in.
"Well, well."
The man in front spotted me and laughed.
His voice sounded familiar.
I lifted my head. In the dim light, I made out his face—and my heart plummeted.
Clarence Whitney.
Rupert's fiercest rival.
Clarence lit a cigarette, eyes narrowing as he studied me. "Never thought I'd see Mrs. Sanchez like this."
The others in the room laughed too.
The sound was oily. Nauseating.
Madame Rose forced a smile. "You know her, Mr. Whitney?"
"Know her?" He exhaled a ring of smoke. "Rupert Sanchez's precious wife. Last time we met, she was so high and mighty she wouldn't even let me touch her hand."