Little Kunas listened to the droning response on the phone, his expression twisted and fearsome with rage.
He had not expected Ivanka to be like this now, not only not blaming Link for having illegitimate children outside, but even accepting that bastard keeping a mistress. This was just too hypocritical.
Moreover, the adoration, love, pride, attachment, sweetness, and silent warmth that seeped through Ivanka's tone when she mentioned "my Link" were gentler than the softest currents in the world.
If that tenderness were directed at him, he'd feel blissfully happy, even to the point where his bones would melt in the sound of that voice.
But it wasn't.
It was "my Link" that Ivanka spoke about.
"Damn Link, all of this should have been mine, mine!"
Little Kunas angrily knocked over the laptop, telephone, folders, and stacks of newspapers on the table... There was a loud clatter as a heap of items scattered across the floor.
