Amelia: The Divorced Seer
Vivian’s seaweed-like hair draped over Damian as she nestled into his embrace, throwing me a challenging look and mouthing,
“You’re a fake. You’re a copy.”
A surge of anger shot through my mind, and I swung my hand at her.
Damian blocked me, grabbing my wrist and pushing me back.
“Please, know when to stop!”
My back hit the wall, and it felt like every breath I took was tainted with the taste of blood in my throat.
At fifteen, Damian's grandmother took me out of the orphanage, and that’s when I met Damian. I married him at twenty, loving him deeply despite his occasional mood swings. After all, he was handsome, with a physique rivaling top models, and he was never a playboy.
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