CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Yvanna and Hugh's Son

YVANNA’S POV:

The heavy velvet curtains drawn shut, the room is dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. I sit on the edge of my bed, my fingers tracing patterns on the silk bedspread, my thoughts a tempest raging within me. Hugh’s confession still echoes in my mind like a relentless storm, each word a piercing arrow through my heart.

How could he? How could he love another, someone who isn't even one of our own kind? Someone who has deceived me into believing that there’s still a chance for us?

“Unbelievably disgusting!”

My frustration simmers, and I can’t contain it any longer. With a fierce cry of anguish, I leap up from the bed and stride to the vanity dresser. Without a second thought, I begin to hurl my possessions from the top of the dresser, the sound of shattering bottles of perfumes, porcelain figurines and thudding containers of cosmetics, trinket boxes filling the air.

Christy, who’s entering my room, jolts in confusion. But I pay her no mind, my focus solely on