Ford’s POV
The entire network of my body stops working right then and there. Maybe even my heart.
Slowly, I turn to look at Madeline, only to be faced not with meekness or caution. But with boldness. Arrogance. Maybe even triumph.
“What did you say?” I manage to ask.
“You heard me,” Madeline murmurs, her face contorting with so much anger that I almost forget what she looked like before. “You want Livia. This isn’t about some fatherly s**t. Never was. You want to f**k her… don’t you?”
My knuckles turn white against the steering wheel.
There’s outrage in my chest.
But strangely, I don’t know where it’s really coming from.
Madeline’s words and her absolute misplaced audacity?
Or the shadow of truth in them?
How many times have I entertained the same thought, even against my will?
