Hate for Love, No More in This Life

“Let go.”

Her shaking made my body unsteady, and my expression turned to ice.

The bodyguards on the side rushed forward at my command, prying Chloe Miller’s hands off me.

Daniel Carter grabbed my ankle, gasping for breath.

“Sophia Evans, what’s between us is our business. Don’t take it out on her.”

“Really? Then tell me—what did my grandmother have to do with our business?”

Daniel knew exactly how much my grandmother meant to me.

As a child, my parents were too busy managing the Evans Group to care for me.

And when they did, it was with stern lectures more than affection.

But Grandma was different. She was gentle, always reasoning with me kindly.

She had a weak heart, yet she was the one who spent the most time with me.

She comforted me when I was sad, braided my hair into pretty plaits, and made sweet milk pudding for me.

She never handed my needs off to servants.

She was the very first person in my life who showed me what real love felt like.

And yet this precious woman died of a sudden heart attack, triggered by “accidental” words Chloe let slip.

I’d long wanted to destroy Chloe, but Daniel insisted, “Come after me instead.”

So I cut his brake lines and nearly cost him his life.

I had told them: never show yourselves before me again.

But Daniel couldn’t resist. Four years later, he strutted back into my path.

I didn’t know who called the police.

When my blade cut Chloe’s cheek, red-and-blue lights flashed so brightly I had to close my eyes.

Someone tried to take Daniel to the hospital, but he refused, trailing after me step by step.

Inside the wide police station, officers questioned him about why he disrupted my engagement party.

He ignored them, turning his head toward me instead.

“Sophia, just admit you were wrong and we’ll stop fighting, okay?”

I smirked and grabbed the ashtray off the officer’s desk, smashing it down on his head.

Me, admit defeat to him? He wasn’t worthy.

Blood poured down his forehead, staining what little was left of his white shirt crimson.

The officers rushed in to separate us, dragging me into an interrogation room.

Out of sight of his face, my mood calmed considerably.

After giving our statements, the incident was logged as mutual assault, with neither side pressing charges.

When I left the room, Daniel was sitting on the station steps, waiting.

Beside him stood his familiar friend, Michael Harris.

Michael kept urging him to get his wounds treated.

He only hung his head, silent.

The moment I appeared, he staggered to his feet.

“Well? Feel better now? If not, take another shot.”

I didn’t even glance at him, walking straight down the steps.

“Sophia.”

He looked ready to follow, but Michael held him back with exasperation.

“Enough. You stay here—I’ll talk to her for you.”

Michael blocked my way just as I heard a heavy thud behind us.

Daniel had fallen down the steps.

I turned back to see him clutching desperately at the same leg I had stomped earlier.

Blood soaked through, and the limb looked stiff, unnatural.

“What’s wrong with his leg?” I asked flatly.

Michael’s eyes flicked past me to Daniel, full of pity.

“It never fully healed. He can barely manage short walks.”

“He was working hard at rehab, but when he heard you were getting engaged, he rushed back without thinking.”

“Oh.”

I responded with indifference, then reached for my car door.

Michael frowned and pressed his hand against the door.

“Sophia, are you really going to watch him die right here on the steps of a police station?”

“Wouldn’t that just be what he deserves?”