“I told you, I’rada, didn’t I? It’s not going to last long.” He hissed, gripping her shoulders tightly. “From the beginning—nothing serious can ever be between us. Each one got what they were after.”
“Right, Aslan,” Irada lifted her head and looked straight at him, not allowing him to notice the tears. “He’ll cry later. Each got what they wanted. You—your new toy, fresh blood. And me…” She smiled at his face. “I just liked sleeping with you. So don’t imagine you’re special. You picked a flower—congratulations. And now, get out of the way for those who are younger!”
“What are you talking about, girl?” he snarled, yanking her sharply toward him.
And really—why is she saying these words to spite him? Because the truth is, Irada loves him with a pain that has no hope and no reply. He is her first and only, and she doesn’t need anyone else. But it doesn’t matter to Aslan: for years, his heart belongs to someone else.