It was clear now that Leon was more in love with himself than her.
After months of a long-distance relationship, spending time with him in person was almost stomach-turning.
His self-absorption and leering energy were exhausting.
She died inside every time his attention drifted to rake over every pretty woman who caught his eye.
She had to practice brutal restraint, pretending not to notice his leering gaze straying toward servers’ curves or gliding over the backs of random females at the bar.
She hated his wolf whistles at beauties on the beach, ogling at their bikini-clad bodies, all the while ignoring her.
Until now, their long-distance affair consisted of holo calls and extended conversations. During which he showered her with love bombs and told her how special she was.
However, on holiday together, he could not hide his obsessive voyeur character from her, laying bare his despicable behavior.
After yet another slobbering incident in the spa where she found him with his hands all over a curvy attendant, her respect for him died, as did any desire to remain in a relationship.
‘You’re overreacting,’ Leon growled from his lean into the lounge. ‘It was just fun. Relax, woman.’
‘I won’t calm down. I’ve seen enough. We’re over.’
She caught her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
She wore a jeweled kaftan, the fabric a gorgeous cascade of silk that captured the moonlight.
Her dark curls tumbled over her shoulders, and her hazel-green eyes flashed with defiance.
Damn, she was far too good for this man.
She should never have doubted her worth, not for a second.
Sheba reached for her hover case, her resolve a cold knot in her chest.
She turned to make a clean exit, desperate to leave with her dignity intact.
However, as she marched toward the door, her white-hot resentment dissolved her spatial awareness, and she misjudged the hallway.
Her shoulder slammed into the mahogany door frame with a heavy thud.
The impact sent her reeling.
Her sandals tangled, and she teetered on the threshold.
She stumbled into the corridor, her gait disjointed and clumsy, more like a drunk than a woman in the middle of a power move.
Her arm throbbed, but the heat in her face was worse as she sensed Leon tracking her awkward retreat with a smug smile.
‘Fix yourfokkin’ feet, Sheba,’ she hissed under her breath.
She tossed her hair and forced one wobbly foot in front of the other, fighting a surge of dizziness; her freakin’ majesty flayed.
She descended the stairs in a lurch, loathing the fact that her final stand had been sabotaged by a piece of timber and her own treacherous balance.
Hours later, as she sat in her designated crash couch on a transport back to Dunia, Sheba stared at her reflection in the plexiglass windows of the passenger ship.
She winced, fighting back overwhelming sadness.
The truth was brutal: She’d misjudged charm for love, again.
