The highway stretched endlessly like a black silk ribbon, winding through the night.
The chilly night wind cut against Cynthia's skin as she trudged along the desolate road, her lone figure engulfed by the vast emptiness. Tears streamed down her cheeks uncontrollably, only to be swept away by the relentless wind.
Her heart was heavy with sorrow, her steps unsteady. She thought about calling Erica, but her hand froze mid-air, realizing she had nothing on her—not even a phone. She had stormed out of the car with nothing.
Occasionally, the headlights of passing cars illuminated her frail figure, making her feel utterly exposed. Fear, helplessness, and despair crawled over her like a suffocating net.
She hated Lucien for pushing her to this breaking point. But more than that, she loathed herself—how had she let her life become such a mess, so utterly humiliating?
Exhaustion weighed on her, and for a fleeting moment, she thought—perhaps she should just give up. Give up on everything, even
