Can I Get Your Number?

Jane's gaze pierced Benjamin like a dagger forged in the fires of fury. Every fiber of her being radiated a tempest of loathing, her eyes ablaze with the flames of wrath. The once pristine canvas of her visage now bore the marks of battle, her makeup smeared in chaotic defiance. Her elegant attire, a casualty of her tumultuous emotions, clung to her form in disarray, a testament to the turmoil within.

Tremors coursed through her trembling frame as she raised a quivering finger, aimed like an arrow of retribution, directly at Benjamin's unyielding countenance. In that charged moment, the air crackled with the intensity of her hatred, a storm unleashed upon the unsuspecting shores of his indifference.

"You wretched scoundrel!" Jane's voice thundered, echoing with the ferocity of a tempest unleashed. "You're the architect of our downfall! Every twist, every turn, orchestrated by your treacherous hand! You plotted and schemed, weaving a web of deceit that has torn apart our very essence!
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