I was done with the back-and-forth and ready to shut the door, but before I could, Clayton stopped it with his hand.
He kept that condescending look, "You're spouting this weird stuff just to get my attention, aren't you?"
I was rendered speechless.
People used to bind feet, now it seemed like he had his brain all tied up.
I suppressed the urge to throw up last night's dinner and coldly told Clayton, "You're reading way too much into it. Even if you were the last love-sick CEO on earth, I wouldn't take you even if for free."
"Denial isn't just a river in Egypt."
Clayton, having been the golden boy all his life, oozed arrogance. He waved his bodyguards away and strode into my apartment with his long legs swaggering.
With our physical mismatch, I couldn't stop him, and I braced myself, "What are you doing?"
Considering Clayton was the typical old-school romantic lead—deep in abusive love with the female lead, often drawing blood or taking organs for his angel.
It was terrifying to think he might fancy some part of me too!
The living room was a mess, with a dozen packing bags strewn around. Clayton's gaze swept over them, and then suddenly, he looked up, "Are you moving out?"
I nodded, "Yes."