Thinking of this, she only wished she had died in the car accident he orchestrated.
"Alright, don't throw a tantrum." The man sat by the bed, pinched her chin, and caressed her dry, pale lips with his thumb, saying, "Thirsty, huh? Have some water."
As he spoke, he pressed the rim of the cup against her lips.
Iris Harris bit her lips and refused to open her mouth, looking at him with resentment. The tea water in the man's hand spilled from her lips, wetting half of her face and the bed sheet.
"Iris," Henry Ford withdrew the teacup with a light sigh, "why do you torture yourself like this?" He turned aside and poured another cup of water, "When you provoke me, you're the one who suffers. If you want to live well, obeying me is the right choice. You really make me angry, do you know that?"
He walked back slowly, his dark eyes shifting moodily as he gazed at her. "Do you know what I'll do when you make me angry?"
"..." Iris let out a cold laugh, "Isn't it... just death?"
