I Faked an Affair for a Divorce but My Cold Husband Refused to Let Me Go Chapter 03
I panicked.
How had he come back?
To him, I was nothing but a replacement, a tool.
The knocking came again, still three knocks, extremely controlled.
His pace picked up slightly. “Joyce, I wanted to see you.”
I sat up. Don’t panic. Don’t let him see you’re panicking.
I drew a long breath, then, in a sleepy voice I forced to sound calm, I said, “Mr. Fred, I… I need to use the bathroom and take a shower. Please wait a moment.”
I rushed into the bathroom, turned the shower on, and stared at the marks on my neck.
They weren’t from any man. I’d made them myself with a bottle cap, and I pressed hard. They wouldn’t fade—concealer wouldn’t even cover them.
But I still had to try.
Because if you were “cheating,” your first instinct would be to lie and hide it.
Lucas wasn’t stupid. If I was going to perform, I had to sell the lie.
I wet my hair so I looked just out of the shower, then changed into a high-necked black dress that covered me up to my arms.
I carefully covered the half-mark still showing above my collar with a bandage.
In the mirror, I practiced a guilty but composed look.
I looked guilty enough, didn’t I?
Lucas would take one look, feel sick, demand a divorce, and tell me to get out.
I opened the door.
Lucas sat on the sofa, brows furrowed, eyes closed as if he were forcing himself to breathe.
His face looked a little pale. There was faint stubble on his jaw.
No watch. The cufflinks that came with his suit were missing.
One hand gripped his phone so tight his knuckles whitened. The other hung off the armrest, and he had four deep cuts across his fingers.
Like he’d punched something, more than once.
He didn’t seem to care. No bandage, nothing.
“Mr. Fred… why are you back?”
Lucas opened his eyes and looked at me. His pupils were so dark they seemed to swallow the light.
He pushed himself up from the sofa. The man who’d sounded urgent at the door now moved painfully slowly as he walked toward me.
I stepped back on instinct, but Lucas caught my arm and yanked me back.
His gaze dropped to my neck. His pupils narrowed, little by little.
I mustered up a smile. “Did something happen?”
He didn’t answer. He only lifted two cold fingers and held them hovering just above the bandage, as if the next second he’d rip it off, along with every lie I told, then end our fake marriage in a rage.
I began to shake, closing my eyes and waited for him to expose me.
But his fingers only rested lightly on the bandage.
Calmly, Lucas asked, “How did you get this?”
I deliberately avoided his eyes. “I… I cut myself on a book edge yesterday.”
“A book edge.” Lucas blinked, slow, almost unnaturally slow. “What were you doing last night?”
His fingertips slid under my collar. If he pulled even a little harder, he’d see the bruises hidden under the fabric.
I swallowed hard. “I went out to get my hair done.”
Lucas’s breathing turned heavier.
He stared at me without expression, and for one terrifying instant, I had the insane feeling he might swallow me whole.
His fingers tightened on my collar. The force made me stumble into his arms. I hurriedly stretched my arms out and pressed my palms to his chest.
His hand closed around my waist, like iron, tightening bit by bit, like he was squeezing his anger into me.
I couldn’t match his strength. My arms weakened as I struggled.
Lucas moved closer, inch by inch.
“Mr… Mr. Fred, don’t.” My voice shook. I didn’t know what he wanted, but every instinct screamed that it was dangerous.
I froze, my voice trembling as I begged him helplessly to stop.
Three or four seconds passed.
Then, unbelievably, he slowly withdrew his hand. His fingers curled into a fist, his face turning livid, his lips pressed into a hard line.
That was when I realized what I’d just said. “I’m scared. Don’t touch me, please.”
“I’ll give you two personal bodyguards,” Lucas said flatly. “From now on, they’ll follow you whenever you go out and keep you safe.”
Then he turned and walked out without hesitation.
Only when I heard the familiar engine outside did I snap out of it.
He wasn’t going to blame me?
How could that be possible?
