Cordelia noticed Ronan as he sauntered in; she gave him a sidelong glance, but remained silent.
Her kitchen was small, barely enough for her to move around alone, let alone to accommodate Ronan's tall frame. She could feel the space getting cramped almost instantly.
"Which man?" Ronan asked Cordelia.
"Huh?"
"Callum mentioned that a man told him about the past?"
"Yeah. My uncle just came. He came to see Samantha filming."
"Directed by you?"
Cordelia's hand, pouring the egg mixture, suddenly stopped. She was somewhat angry and a bit disdainful. "I don't have your knack for managing things. You were the director of Deanna and Tabitha's fiasco, weren't you? You killed my mother, and now, you've added two more lives to your tally," Cordelia replied with a hint of indifference.
Suddenly, Cordelia found herself seated on the kitchen counter, her feet hovering over the floor. She hadn't even noticed how she had ended up there.
"What are you doing?" Cordelia glanced at her feet, the egg mixture splattered on the floor from the sudden lift.
"Tabitha's child isn't mine." His frame leaned against the counter, his gaze locked onto Cordelia, who was suddenly elevated. His voice was low and desperate.
Cordelia was struggling, worried that her tarts would burn, ruining her hard work, but her struggles only seemed to tighten his grip.
One of Ronan's hands held the back of Cordelia's head, while the other was wrapped tightly around her waist. He leaned his forehead against hers, rendering her immobile. "You've been with me for so long and still don't know me. You deserve to be controlled this tightly." Ronan's deep voice echoed in Cordelia's ear, tinged with a hint of resentment.
Cordelia's heart pounded. She despised him, yet couldn't escape him. "You slept with Tabitha, didn't you?" Her voice was calm, but it didn't hide the jealousy in her tone.
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