Page 320 of In Love with a Cruel Billionaire

Before

Kahit Maputi Na Ang Buhok Ko by Moira dela Torre

THE PROFESSOR WAS NOcoward.

But at the same time, he couldn't make his feet move a damn inch. All he could do was stare, a part of him still trapped in denial, maybe even shock.

She couldn't really be dead.

But the marble headstone in front of him said differently, and his fists clenched as his gaze fell on the letters engraved on them. Letters that spelled the same name that would forever etch a wound in his heart. Letters that didn't fucking allow him to lie to himself.

Letters that sentenced him as a murderer.

The thought annihilated him, smashing all his inner defenses and breaking through the wall he had painstakingly built around his memories. He breathed roughly, battling for control, but it was like going against a powerful tide.

God.

Please.

Fuck.

No.

But it was too late.

And he could no longer stop himself from remembering.

Those last messages she had left in his voice mail.

Please, Matthijs. Please. I'm begging you. Please. I need you. I love you. I know you're still mad. I know what I've done's unforgivable. But please. Please. Please, Matthijs. Please. I just can't take it anymore. I really think I'm going to kill myself this time. I swear I'm not lying. I just can feel myself unraveling, and I'm scared. But I just can't go on like this. I can't face a life without you. So please, Matthijs. Please. If you had ever loved me please. Please. Please. Please come.

The time he had found out what she had done, and the truth had gutted him so fucking bad he hadn't even been able to feel any kind of anger.

He stared at her, unable to believe how blind he had been all these years, to never have seen that she could be this fucking selfish. This stupid. This...bad.

"Please say something." Her voice was soft and trembling, a look of entreaty in her angelic blue eyes.

But it was all a fucking lie.

All these years she had lied to him.

Him, a fucking Nobel Prize winner, a goddamn genius, and this child of nineteen had managed to pull the wool

over his fucking eyes.

"Please, Matthijs."

She went down on her knees, and when he saw her trying to reach for his hands, he reacted instinctively and pulled away with a jerk. A look of hurt flitted over her face, and that she had the fucking gall to feel that way, after what she had done...

He left the couch and stalked towards the door. "You should go." His voice was cold and tight, and his gaze never strayed back to her as he yanked his front door open. He had a feeling if she dared do the same thing again and act like she was the victim—-

---