Matthew watched Emma. She wore a black skirt suit, her face almost translucently pale, her lashes seemingly glistening with tears. Under the sun, she appeared both ethereal and fragile.
Click—Click—
Matthew unconsciously flicked his lighter, oblivious to the motion, his gaze fixed on Emma.
She stood before him, her slender frame trembling slightly, yet her expression remained resolute and unyielding. It was as if nothing could break her—not her dire circumstances, not even him.
Like a butterfly struggling with all its might to escape a net.
Even knowing its fate, it would sharpen its wings into blades, cutting through its restraints to attain freedom.
A sudden tenderness welled up in Matthew's heart.
He could, of course, refuse Emma. Her threats did have an impact, but it would o
