Tristan Grayson let go of Aria Joyce's arm and reached up to touch her face. However, his once-blurry vision was starting to clear. The moment he realized the woman wasn't Mika Summers, his expression grew cold.
He fought back the rage burning in his chest, turned onto his side on the bed, and clenched his left fist tightly. "Go take a shower first," he ordered coldly.
Aria Joyce looked momentarily stunned, then asked with concern, "What's wrong? I thought you weren't feeling well."
Tristan Grayson shut his eyes in fury. "Aria Joyce, before you get into bed with me, shouldn't you wash yourself clean first?"
At his words, Aria Joyce froze completely.
'He… he knows it's me?'
"Tristan, I'm sorry. I… I didn't mean to do it like this…" She truly liked him and wanted to be his.
'If he had the strength,' Tristan fumed internally, 'he'd slap this woman across the face.'
But right now, he obviously didn't have the strength. All he could do was get her out of the room.
