She lowered her head and gave a silent bitter laugh, thinking she was such a fool to have asked Sophia Sutton back then whether they could be friends.
Sophia Sutton hurriedly carried Henry Ford out, and soon, a chaotic sound of footsteps came from outside—it was Henry Ford's men rushing in, shouts, footsteps, a messy cacophony ringing out.
Iris Harris hugged her shoulders, curled up at the edge of the bed, buried her face in her knees, and gently closed her eyes.
Her life seemed like a cruel joke from the gods.
Every time she thought she saw the light at the end of the tunnel, someone would mercilessly drag her into a darker abyss than before.
No matter how she struggled, misfortune was just misfortune. The initial happiness was merely the foundation for future miseries, allowing her to savor an even more desperate taste than before.
