Healing A Broken Heart

The moment I entered the private room, I noticed Tyler sitting at the head of the table.

He was wearing a neatly-made suit and a black shirt with only a few buttons done up. The ring I gave to him five years ago glistened on the middle finger of his right hand as he leaned back on the couch lazily.

The ring no longer had the dazzle it used to have in the beginning. Rather, it appeared dull in contrast to the bright room.

When Tyler saw that I had entered the room without knocking, he frowned and shot me a glare.

The woman in his lap gave me a provocative look too.

"Well, well. That was really quick, Jas. You managed to reach before even three minutes passed since Ty messaged you."

"You're afraid that you'd pissed Ty off, aren't you?"

Once those people saw me, they mocked me as they leaned sideways on the couch.

There was not a single glint of respect in their eyes.

In the next moment, one of the sleazeballs said, "You've got such a great figure, Jasmine. I can see your curves even when you've got your coat on.

"Why don't you take your coat off and perform a dance for us to liven things up?"

My face darkened at that instant. Looking a little uneasy, I replied coldly, "I'm sorry, I'm not a stripper. I can't dance."

I looked toward Tyler, who simply held his wine glass in his hand and said indifferently, "Go on. Aren't you the owner of this clubhouse? Isn't it the clubhouse's motto to please all your customers?

"Don't be such a wet blanket."

I did not budge. It felt as if a lump were stuck in my throat. All I could do was grit my teeth and not make a sound.

The sleazeball scoffed. "Being pretentious, are you? You're not as naive when you're in Ty's bed, though."

All of a sudden, a thick silence filled the room.

That was a shocking revelation. My ears started ringing as I stared at Tyler in disbelief.

I couldn't believe that he actually joked and talked about our private life with others.

The embarrassed gazes from the others in the room felt like a slap in my face. My heart throbbed in pain.

Suddenly, Tyler lowered his hand that was holding a cigarette. An air of frigidity descended upon him as he glared icily at that sleazeball.

The woman on Tyler's lap probably sensed danger from his posture. She scurried out of his lap immediately.

The drunk sleazeball continued babbling, "I saw the video of you in Ty's phone—"

The next moment, a bottle of wine hit him in the head. Fresh blood trickled from his forehead to the carpet on the floor.

Tyler had smashed a bottle of Macanollan worth 27 thousand dollars onto the man's head just like that.

The sound of the wine bottle shattering and punches being thrown echoed in the room.