Chapter 8
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Edward gave the maids at the Jenkins’s residence a day off.
He openly accompanied me to meals and walked with me in the garden.
At night, his touch was relentless and insatiable.
On the third night, he drove me to the riverbank.
We ate fresh seafood on a fishing boat, and I drank quite a bit of fruit wine.
On the way back, I was so drunk I could barely walk.
Edward carried me off the boat.
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His fingers brushed against the old scar on my calf, and he asked naturally, “How did you get such a bad injury on your leg?”
I rested my head on his back, eyes half–closed from the alcohol, and murmured.
“When I was little, there was a mean kid. He was really bad, and he came from a wealthy family. All the other kids flocked around him, trying to win his favor. But I didn’t. The more I ignored him, the more he bothered me.
“But I wasn’t some rich kid with nothing to do. I had to help my parents run a food stall, take care of my little brother, change his diaper, and feed him. I got fed up with him pestering me, so we fought. Being little back then, I obviously couldn’t beat a boy.”
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“He pushed me down, and I hit my head on a flowerpot, bleeding heavily. But he didn’t get off easy. I bit his hand hard until my mouth was covered in blood. He didn’t have much pride left and cried like a baby.”
I laughed as I spoke.
“He wasn’t really bad. He was just a little spoiled. Later, he even brought me medicine and told me the scar looked like a flower petal. He said it was kind of pretty.”
Edward softly asked, “And after that?”
“I don’t remember. I think he left pretty soon. His parents probably took him home. At that time, I had endless chores, so I didn’t pay attention to much else.”
After saying all this, my head felt even heavier.
I rested more fully against Edward’s back, drifting toward sleep.
“Michelle.”
I heard him call my name.
He said something more, but I didn’t catch it.
The day Patrick finally came back, Edward arranged a family dinner.
I deliberately asked him, “Edward, Patrick’s been back for days. Why only arrange a family dinner today?”
Edward looked at me for a long time without saying a word.
His eyes were deep, unreadable, as if they could swallow a person whole.
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I shrugged and hurried off to find Patrick, not daring to look back.
But I could still feel Edward’s gaze following me.
At the dinner that evening, Patrick’s mood was clearly sour–maybe the business trip hadn’t gone well.
When he was on his third drink, I gently held his glass.
“Honey, don’t drink too much. Your stomach isn’t good.”
Before the words even left my mouth, two pairs of eyes snapped onto
- me.
Edward, always impeccably polite, was dressed formally even for a family meal, sitting upright.
But at that moment, his knife and fork slipped against the plate with a sharp clink.
He looked up at me.
Patrick frowned. “What did you just call me?”
I widened my eyes, cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and sweetness. “Honey–what’s wrong with that?”
“Michelle!”
Suddenly, Patrick stood and slammed the plate in front of him down onto the table, shattering it.
I was so scared that I covered my head, tears welling up. “Patrick…”
“Who are you calling ‘honey“? What the hell have you been doing behind my back?”
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He grabbed my collar, almost lifting me off the ground.
I trembled all over. “You’re the one who said you liked me calling you that.”
“Bullshit!”
His eyes bloodshot, he glared at me fiercely. “When did I ever say that?”
His voice abruptly cut off. The veins on the back of his hand tightened as he gripped my collar.
Tears streamed down my face as I sobbed, feeling utterly wronged. “You said it yourself. You said you liked me calling you ‘honey.‘ You even told me to keep calling you that lately…”
Patrick’s bloodshot eyes suddenly shifted to Edward across the table.
And the man who had been sitting still as a statue finally set down his knife and fork.
He stood, radiating a chilling authority that made my skin crawl.
My crying quieted instantly, and an indescribable dread swept through
- me.
Maybe Edward’s polished exterior had fooled me. He was far more terrifying than Patrick.
I started trembling uncontrollably.
Edward’s gaze lingered on me only briefly, about two seconds, but it drenched my spine in cold sweat.
“Don’t bully her. She’s just a woman.‘
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He raised his hand, grabbed Patrick’s wrist, and forced him to let go of
- me.
“Come upstairs with me. We need to talk.”
Patrick clenched his jaw tightly.
After a long pause, he sneered bitterly, eyes red, staring at me for a long moment before turning and heading upstairs.
When the study door closed, I received a message from Edward.
It was just five words. “Don’t be afraid, I’m here.”
I stared at those words, wiped my tears, and slowly sank into a chair.
Then, I covered my face and laughed bitterly to myself.
Did Edward think I didn’t know? Or that I wouldn’t remember?
At the banquet the night he returned, someone congratulated him on his upcoming engagement.
He didn’t deny it.
A man about to get engaged, playing such a game with his own twin brother, was probably just chasing one last thrill before settling down- or indulging the darker desires hidden beneath his flawless facade.
But what about me?
Why should I be nothing more than a toy for these two brothers?
