CHAPTER 70
When Ryle abandoned his clinical facade and screamed, "We f****d!", the raw, vulgar word struck Lauren like a physical blow. The sudden, violent shift from his composed, professional voice to a furious yell was terrifying.
She felt utterly shattered. That single, coarse word—f****d—brutally stripped away every fragile layer of romance, intimacy, and profound vulnerability she had momentarily assigned to the night.
It felt like a deliberate act of degradation, a choice to reduce the intense, tender moments they had shared especially her first time into the lowest, most casual physical term.
The anger in his voice confirmed her worst fear: that he was actively trying to destroy the memory, and by doing so, destroying the fragile connection she had dared to believe existed be
