“I’ll be fair,” Argus said, leaning back like this bored him, slowly swirling the wine in his glass. “We split the hotel costs. I’m not unreasonable.”
Fair?
My throat felt dry.
“After deducting the fifty thousand Celine owes you,” he continued, finally looking at me, eyes sharp and cold, “you still owe me 52 million. One month. Transfer it.”
Fifty-two million.
My lips parted but no sound came out at first. “Argus… I never asked you for those things. You gave them to me, I didn’t—”
“I didn’t what?” he cut in softly, but it felt worse than shouting. “Didn’t enjoy them? Didn’t accept them?”
“That’s not what I mean, I just…” I swallowed. Why couldn’t I explain it? “I thought… it wasn’t like this.”
“Then what was it like?” His gaze locked on mine, pressing, suffocating. “Say it properly, Dahlia. Or do you not even know what you were thinking back then?”
I froze.
What was I thinking?
That he loved me?
That those things weren’t debts waiting to be collected?
A laugh broke the silence.
“Dahlia sorry, Argus really kept receipts,” someone said, amused. “Do you even know how much fifty million is?”