If the deadness, the sociopathy, of his eyes, phoniness of his smile, the vile, frat boy vibe, and the grotesqueness of his physical ugliness did not make her recoil, and, if the thought of his touch, did not make her physically nauseated, than her greed knew no limits, for he offered nothing else but money. 

If she could give herself to this man, even befriend him, then she was a slave to illusion, to status, and to wealth. Love meant nothing to her. Loyalty lay miles from her mind, as he would never be loyal to her … and already hadn’t been in mind. If she could give her body to such a repulsive specimen of adult infancy, then it was naught but a calculation based in avarice. 

She could have been physically satiated by someone who loved her, someone she had wanted to touch, and had touched often, someone she knew would have been loyal, and someone who, though he had acted badly in response to her cruelty and lies, was not a sociopath and would never have turned on her, never hurt her again with intent. But she chose the obscene. 

This man would hurt her … eventually. He was what she had run from before, and for the same reason. The union was as blasphemous in its scheming as it was phony and forced. There was nothing holy there, nothing pure, no honesty to be found in either. It was all adulterated. If she did not turn away from it, lose this clear user from her life, and the others like him, then she kept them on purpose and sought to be used. 

It was a match forged in hell and wrapped in gold veneer. And she sought her own perdition.