11 11 | Remembrance And Heartaches

JOY'S POV

I recognised his face immediately when he stalked toward me and, shocking as it was, I remembered his voice better—the same raspy tone that had me going weak on my knees and that English accent.

I felt pain and anger hammering in my chest as I stared at him. I couldn't believe my eyes.

There was a time when I couldn't differentiate between reality and imagination, which I had to take therapy for. But standing here, I hoped the man in front of me was nothing more than a figment of my imagination or some late, late hallucination.

I’d known how much Vince had changed over the years. I’d seen him change with my own eyes . . . on sheets of papers, advertisements, social media and news.

He was more handsome now with a perfectly trimmed scruffy beard. His aura was stronger and his voice deeper. His physique was broader and his gaze fiercer. But some things about him remained the same—his devilish charm, his wicked smirk, and the ambition in his eyes.