"You're so stubborn. No wonder Yuri can't stand you. Women are supposed to obey men. You have to be a good, obedient girl to be loved, you get it?" Morgan Sinclair pouted. Seeing Ashley Bowen in such a sorry state, crying so pitifully, he actually felt a flicker of sympathy.
"I'd rather walk than get in your car!" Ashley Bowen shot back, immediately climbing into the passenger seat and slamming the door.
The door caught Morgan Sinclair's hand, and he yelped, hopping around in pain.
That flicker of sympathy vanished instantly. Morgan Sinclair snorted in anger, clutching his fingers, which were already turning red, and stalked off toward his own car.
Unlike the luxury cars of the motorcade, Morgan Sinclair drove his own sports car—a flashy, porcelain-yellow model.
Yuri Sinclair's car started up, and the driver asked Ashley Bowen, "Imperial Concubine, shall we depart?"
"Mhm." Ashley Bowen nodded, wiping her face.
