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Chapter 137

***LONDON'S POV***

The smell of blood and the rustic taste of metal penetrates my mouth as I blink severally, trying to shake it off.

"The whore is finally awake," I hear Oliver's unmistakable voice and I straighten up.

I was in a room, probably locked somewhere in the mansion but I wasn't in chains.

"I am not a whore," I bite out snarling at Oliver.

How the fuck does he even know Michael? What part of the puzzle am I missing? I wonder.

Getting in bed with me, Oliver pulls my hair so that I am staring at him.

"Of course, you are," he yanks my hair and I scream in pain.

"You don't know me," I yell at him.

This time, Oliver pinches my chin and forces my head to look at him and I look away. He forces me to stare and he speaks.

"The last time we met, our meeting was brief and halted by some guy I heard you are now married to," he says touching me with his greasy fingers.

I try avoiding him but he groans in disgust, making me stop.

"It's a good thing to know you are
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