He genuinely believed that no matter where I went, the only place I’d truly belong was by his side.
But today, it felt like the sun had risen in the west. He was suddenly asking a million questions, digging deep into where I was going and why.
It wasn’t until I stepped into the car and pressed the gas pedal that his endless chatter finally stopped, leaving me in silence.
The fashion studio run by my best friend, Marilyn Lanister, had its grand opening today, and she invited me to cut the ribbon and join the celebration.
When she saw me, her eyes lit up. “Wow, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you dress like this! Doesn’t your guy mind?”
I smiled and handed her my gift. “I’ll wear whatever I want. He has no say in it.”
She eagerly took the present with a sly grin. “That’s right. You still have it. You’re as stunning as ever.”
As the night went on with drinks flowing freely, I realized how long it had been since I’d relaxed this much.
But even with my phone on silent, it kept buzzing non-stop.
Marilyn, her face flushed from the alcohol, glanced at my phone and warned, “Twelve missed calls. I think your husband is losing it.”
I turned the phone over and took another sip from my glass.
After a few more rounds of drinks, I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs to wait for my ride, only to spot Jason standing on the neon-lit street corner, his face twisted in anger.
“Wynter, really? You didn’t answer your phone, and it turns out you came here to get drunk? Do you have any idea how worried I was?”
He called off the driver, picked me up by the waist, and threw me into the backseat of the car.
The cramped space felt suffocating as he pinned my hands down. His eyes, filled with an all-too-familiar hunger, bore into me.
He leaned in slowly, pressing his lips against mine, but I pushed him away before he could go any further.
“Aren’t you done with your tantrum? I’m your husband—can’t I even kiss you?”
The alcohol in my system started to fade, and I sat up, fixing my disheveled clothes. I said coldly, “Just go home.”
