Third Person's POV
The fact that he'd spent half the night screaming at Seraphina over a literal dog only made the raging fire in his chest burn hotter.
The sole culprit behind this entire disaster was Velda—that absolute, incurable i***t of a woman.
As Mortimer stood there boiling with a mix of fury and embarrassment, Wilmot twisted the knife one more time. "Oh, man. Slicing off your own dignity and forcing a make-believe cuckold fantasy onto your own head? That must be an incredible feeling."
Mortimer's gorgeous face went completely black. The temperature in the corridor dropped straight to zero.
He turned his head, his gaze cutting into Wilmot with zero warmth left—only a vicious, venomous counterattack. "You seem pretty thrilled. Why? Did Trista finally agree not to void that holy
