Chapter 4 I Don’t Love You Anymore
Yolanda tried to shake off Antwan’s hand, but he pulled her into a tight embrace from behind.
She bit him, only for him to grab her chin in response.
Then he shoved her into the car and ordered the chauffeur to start driving.
Beckett was Antwan’s personal chauffeur and knew Yolanda. He glanced back, sensing something was wrong.
“Beckett, he’s lost his mind. Please, let me out of the car!” Yolanda pleaded anxiously.
“Mr. Navarro, Ms. Nielsen…”
“Who the hell do you listen to? Who signs your paycheck?”
Beckett assumed it was just a couple’s quarrel and decided to stay out of it. He quickly started the car.
Unable to break free, Yolanda gradually calmed down.
‘Antwan, I don’t want to fight with you. We’ve already broken up. There’s no need to make this uglier than it already is.”
Antwan looked enraged. “Break up? I don’t agree.”
“You’re about to marry Jaslyn. Can’t you just let me go?”
“No.”
“You can’t do this!”
Antwan held Yolanda tighter, growling near her ear, “Didn’t you want to have my child before? Fine, I agree. Tonight, I’ll get you pregnant.”
“Antwan! You bastard!”
Yolanda turned and slapped him across the face. A sharp smack echoed through the car, followed by dead silence.
Antwan stared at her in disbelief. “You slapped me?”
Yolanda’s eyes burned with tears, but she bit down on her lip to keep herself from crying.
This was the man she had loved for eight years. How could he say something like that to her?
He didn’t even have the most basic respect for her.
“Antwan, what am I to you? A free maid? Or a cheap whore?”
Fury blazing, Antwan clutched his face. “At least you know what you are. Maid, whore–it was all voluntary. You brought this on yourself.”
Yolanda stared at Antwan for a long moment, then let out a bitter laugh.
“You’re right. I brought this on myself.”
“You just want to marry me, don’t you? Do you think you’re worthy?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re jealous of Jaslyn. Do you think you can compare to her?”
“I can’t.”
“You…”
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The calmer Yolanda became, the more panicked Antwan grew.
“I’ve been screwing you for eight years for free. Do you think any man will want you now?”
“So in your eyes, I’m nothing but trash?”
Antwan pursed his lips. “That’s right. You’re trash.”
Yolanda nodded.
She was glad that she had finally seen Antwan for who he truly was.
Eight years wasn’t short, but she still had many more to live.
With that thought, Yolanda chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Antwan gritted his teeth.
Yolanda looked at Antwan, still smiling, “Antwan, from now on, I don’t love you anymore.”
Antwan froze. Yolanda had threatened breakups countless times before, but she had never said she didn’t love him.
“Beckett, please pull over,” Yolanda said to the chauffeur.
The chauffeur had been silent the whole time. Hearing her request, he hesitated. “Ms. Nielsen, we’re on the highway right now. Maybe…”
Yolanda wasn’t reckless enough to throw herself onto the highway just to prove a point. “Then let’s wait until we’re off the highway,” she said.
Just then, Antwan’s phone rang.
He was still fuming, but when he saw the caller ID–Jaslyn–his expression instantly softened.
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Jaslyn told him the filming site was surrounded by reporters and she needed him to pick her up.
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
Antwan hung up and told the chauffeur to take the next exit toward Ohixham.
Yolanda frowned. Her villa was in the opposite direction.
“Beckett, please get off the highway and let me out first.”
“Pull over. Let her out,” Antwan snapped.
The chauffeur hesitated. “But we’re still on the highway…”
“I said pull over!”
With no choice, the chauffeur stopped in the emergency lane.
Antwan shoved Yolanda out of the car.
By the time she found her footing and realized her handbag was still inside, the car had already driven off.
It was rush hour, and cars sped by on the highway one after another. Yolanda stuck close to the edge, heading for the nearest exit. Horns blared behind her, and more than one angry driver rolled down their window to yell, “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
She walked like that for over an hour before finally getting off the highway. With no phone or money, Yolanda had to keep walking home on foot.
The night wind was cold. She wrapped her clothes tighter around herself. There were fewer and fewer cars on the streets. At one corner, Yolanda
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ran into a drunk man who tried to grope her. She clenched her teeth and ran as fast as she could.
She stumbled once and skinned her knee badly, but she didn’t dare stop. Limping and breathless, Yolanda kept running until she finally ditched the drunk man.
Her villa was on the outskirts of the city. By the time she reached it, the sun was already rising.
Soft light glowed from inside the house. Yolanda paused for a moment, then stepped forward to knock on the door.
It was Jaslyn who answered.
Her hair was loose, and she wore a low–cut nightgown. She was surprised to see Yolanda at the door.
“What kept you out there so late?”
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Yolanda frowned.
Why was Jaslyn in her home?
“What are you doing here?”
Jaslyn blinked. “Antwan brought me over.
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Yolanda walked past her and entered the house, just in time to see Antwan walk out of the kitchen, holding some food.
Yolanda sneered secretly.
She didn’t even know that he could cook.
Once, when Yolanda had a high fever and was drenched in cold sweat, Antwan had come home late, complaining he was hungry, and demanded
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she cook for him.
She had said helplessly, “If you don’t like takeout, you should at least learn to cook a little. What if I’m not around? You can’t starve yourself.”
He hugged her and replied, “I’m not learning. I want you to cook for me for the rest of my life.”
As memories resurfaced, Yolanda laughed bitterly.
It all made sense. Jaslyn was his princess, and she was just the maid.
Who would cook for their maid?
Antwan shot Yolanda a cold glance, then took Jaslyn to the living room.
He placed the food on the table, grabbed a throw pillow, and helped Jaslyn lean against it.
“I don’t have an appetite,” Jaslyn pouted.
“You have to eat it. Breakfast is important.” Antwan began feeding Jaslyn.
Jaslyn took one bite reluctantly, then shook her head. “It’s too salty.”
“Really?” Antwan tasted it himself, “You’re right, it is salty. I’ll make a new one.”
Not minding the trouble at all, he darted back into the kitchen.
Yolanda was exhausted and just wanted to collapse onto her bed.
Dragging herself into the bedroom, she was stunned to find the blanket on her bed pulled back, her pillow on the floor, and Jaslyn’s clothes hanging on her rack. Her own clothes had been thrown carelessly onto a chair.
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Fighting back her rage, Yolanda rushed downstairs. “Who slept in my room last night?”
Antwan glanced at her. “Jaslyn will be staying here from now on.”
“This is my house. Did I say she could stay?”
Antwan frowned. “This is my house. I said yes, and that’s enough.”
Yolanda froze.
Antwan was right. This was his house.
After graduating from university, Yolanda rented a small apartment. But Antwan had complained it was too cramped and uncomfortable, insisting she move in with him.
She hadn’t paid rent, but she’d covered most of the day–to–day expenses in the house.
She didn’t owe Antwan anything.
“Antwan and I are planning to redecorate the place for our new home,” Jaslyn smiled at Yolanda. “We can save a room for you.”
“No need.”
With that, Yolanda went upstairs, took out her suitcase, packed her belongings, and came back down ready to leave.
“Yolanda, I don’t have so much patience for your tantrums,” Antwan growled. “If you walk out with that suitcase now, we’re done for good. There’ll be no turning back.”
Yolanda had reached the door. Hearing those words, she turned around, looked Antwan straight in the eye, and placed her keys on the shoe
cabinet.
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“Goodbye.”
