Balfour couldn't believe that Clara was without her wits. If she was planning something against Ivy, it was undoubtedly well-thought-out.
Yet, now she was sending these kinds of photos to him, and that had to mean she was up to something.
[I don't want anything from you. I just want you to see what's become of your beloved. She's not so pretty anymore. Do you still love her?]
Balfour pondered her words, unsure of the kind of answer she was fishing for.
Clara sat next to Ivy, phone in hand, eager for her to see Balfour's response instantly. She even propped Ivy up against the wall for a better view.
"Just you wait. I want to see if this guy really loves you for you, not just for your pretty face."
She was like a kid conducting a science experiment, full of anticipation.
"What would you even gain from this? Why can't I have my slice of happiness?" Ivy asked softly, inhaling sharply as if her wounds ached.
Without a second thought, Clara retorted, "You? Deserve happiness? I haven't got any, so what makes you think you're entitled to yours? Save your breath. You'll need it in case his answer breaks your heart."
"Why are you so confident Balfour only loves my looks, not me?" Ivy wondered, trying hard to trace the root of all this animosity. Before now, there had been no bad blood between Balfour and Clara.
"Of course, I'm confident. He's got his old flame," Clara said with a sly grin. "You don't know, do you? It's Mara's sister, Victoria Lewis! Victoria died trying to save your man. She'll always be in his heart, which means you'll never measure up!"
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