Chapter 30

Just then, Latisha's phone vibrated.

She pulled it out and saw a message from Nikita. She glanced at Clifford, who was staring intently at the screen. Before she could react, he snatched the phone from her hand and opened the message.

Nikita: [Latisha, I'm grounded. They shut down my coffee shop. I'm so pissed about my paintings, but I managed to save the portraits of you. I shipped them to you, so keep an eye out.]

Clifford read the message, then looked at Latisha, who was visibly nervous.

A cold smile spread across his face. "So now you're just completely ignoring everything I say, is that it?"

The smile sent a chill down her spine. She shook her head frantically, trying to explain.

But he tossed the phone onto the table and strode out of the room.

Realizing what he was about to do, Latisha scrambled after him.

There was a small mailroom by the villa's entrance. Clifford went straight there, kicking aside a pile of packages until he found a large box at the bottom. It was the box of portraits from Nikita.

Latisha's eyes widened. She lunged forward, dropping to the floor and shielding the box with her body.

"Get out of the way!"

With tears streaming down her face, she shook her head, pleading with him to leave the paintings alone. They weren't just a gift; they were Nikita's hard work, a symbol of their friendship.

Clifford's face was a dark mask. He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her to her feet.

She was no match for his strength. Her fingers desperately clung to the box, but it slipped away from her, inch by inch.

He picked it up, carried it out into the yard, and threw it on the ground like a piece of trash.

Latisha tried to run to it, but he held her fast.

He took out a lighter, and with a flick of his thumb, a flame danced to life.

Latisha stared at the flickering flame, her eyes wide with horror. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He had her, hands pinned robbing her other only way to communicate

Clifford turned to look at her. "You care about these paintings that much?"

Tears streamed down her face. She looked at him with pleading eyes, begging him not to do it.

A cruel, cold smile touched his lips.

It was as if the more she cared

about something, the more he

wanted to destroy it, to watch it turn

to ash so that his was the only image reflected in her eyes.

He let the lighter fall. It landed on the cardboard, and the flame began to spread.

Latisha thrashed wildly in his arms. When she couldn't break free, she leaned down and bit his arm, hard.

Clifford winced in pain, nearly letting her go, but he tightened his grip, pulling her back against his chest.

The fire danced in her eyes, growing larger until it consumed her entire vision. She watched helplessly as the portraits inside were devoured by the flames, turning into black, brittle ash.

A gust of wind fanned the fire, and the charred fragments swirled into the air.

Clifford held her the entire time. Her silent struggles, her desperate pleas, meant nothing. She reached out, but all she could catch were a few flakes of ash floating in the air.

Finally, she went limp in his arms. He released her, and she collapsed to the ground, the ashes swirling around her like a cruel joke.

Both he and the world seemed to be

telling her that everything she cherished was worthless. She had never even had a chance to see

them. The paintings were gone, as if

they had never existed at all.