I dug out my medical records from the hospital—proof that I'd been drugged, proof that I was innocent—and brought them to him.
He wouldn't even look at them.
"Fabricated evidence," he said, his lip curling. "Is there anything you won't do?"
I was out of options. All I could do was dig out the photographs documenting our past—the love letters where we'd poured out our hearts, the gifts and keepsakes that held meaning only for the two of us.
But every item I pulled out, Sebastian burned.
Eventually, I grew desperate enough to put on lingerie and try to seduce him—anything to make the man who was supposed to be my husband stay home for just one night.
Sebastian did pause. For the first time in ages, he moved toward me.
But just as his lips were about to meet mine, he gripped my chin and smiled—a cruel, mocking twist of his mouth.
"Joy, you really are this pathetic, aren't you?"
"Too bad I have standards. I don't touch dirty things."
The next day, he brought Narelle to a charity auction. My intimate photos—the ones I'd sent only to him—had been printed out and placed on the auction block.
When I was dragged into the venue, the first thing I saw was my own image splashed across the massive screen.