Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
I told her she had no choice, but that was far from the truth.
She’s slipping between my fingers with the persistence of sand despite my attempts to trap her sickness. Asphyxiate it.
Fucking dismantle it.
I built an hourglass, but it’s been cracking for months and I refused to see the damage. Not in the late-night walks or the mindless existence of her ghostly version.
However, this incident is prone to shove her to the point of no return and decimate any hourglass remnants.
I couldn’t care less.
If everything spills over, I’ll find a way to trap her in again. Even if I have to buy every fucking desert and shove the sand back inside.
My jaw clenches as I tap on the window gently to avoid startling her, even if part of me feels she’s too far gone to hear anything.
I do it again, injecting more strength behind the knock.
My wife stirs and I pause, my hand suspended in midair.
Slowly, she lifts herself and turns in my direction, her stiff movement no different than a robot’s.
Fuck.
Her eyes are clouded, not empty, but also not present either. It’s a mysterious mix of lethargy and alertness.
She clicks a button on the dashboard without my having to say anything.
I carefully pry the door open and lower myself so my face is level with hers in an attempt to reduce the threatening factor.
The smell of seafood fills my nostrils, but a hint of sweet flowers continues to emanate from her.
My wife gapes up at me with those deep-blue eyes that are floundering between life and death.
Like a shadow of her former self.
“Hey,” I say with as much softness as I can muster.
“Hey,” she mutters back, a shine gathering in her eyelids as they gradually clear. “You came.”
“Of course.”
“I think I had a panic attack.”
“Did you take your meds?”
She frantically searches in her spilled bag, and some makeup products fall out before she produces her bottle of pills and hands it over.
“I took two. Swallowed them dry.”
“Good girl.” I stroke her cheek, sliding my fingers to her throat and pressing on that steady pulse point.
She leans into my touch, her lips dropping open before she sucks the bottom one between her teeth.
My gaze follows the motion and my dick definitely takes notice, failing—as usual—to read the damn situation.
She releases her lip and pushes it forward in a small pout. “You yelled at me. I didn’t like it.”
“Won’t happen again.”
“Thanks. I had fun with Aunt Elsa today and the dinner with Uncle Aiden went well.”
“Good.”
“She sent you food.”
“I see.”
“It’s actually for me, but I’ll share.”
“I’m grateful.”
“Lan came back and he was talking shit as usual.”
“It’d be shocking if he wasn’t.”
“He could use being brought down a peg or two.”
“I’ll arrange it.”
Her lips twitch in the tiniest smile and I release a long exhale. It’s her.
My wife is back.
I release her throat, but only so I can guide her out of the car. But she insists on picking up all the things that fell out of her bag and the food containers.
“Hey, Leo.” She waves at him as she places the containers in the passenger seat. “Be careful with these, please.”
He nods.
“I’ll strap them in just in case.”
I tilt my head, watching her movements. They’re still slightly robotic, her fingers moving in a jerky manner due to the residual tremors, but she’s speaking without the haunting edge.
She’s also behaving normally, so that should be a promising sign.
After she makes sure the bag of containers is strapped in, she narrows her eyes on me. “You won’t object?”
“About?”
“Me calling him Leo.”
“Do you want me to object?”
“Nope.” She smiles and kisses my cheek. “You can be so adorable when you’re compliant, babe.”
And then she slides into the back seat.
I remain rooted in place, resisting the urge to touch where her lips burned my skin.
Did she just call me adorable and babe in the same sentence after kissing my cheek?
Jesus fucking Christ.
Maybe I should be the one who sees a doctor because I want her to repeat what just happened in that exact order.
Better yet, perhaps I should have her checked in case the brat behavior underwent some dangerous mutation.
I catch a glimpse of Henderson trying to hide his creepy smile. It disappears as soon as I narrow my eyes at him.
Maybe it’s time to chuck him over a cliff. I don’t appreciate his recent bonding with my wife or the way she keeps buying him stuff and making sure he eats. She’s not his mother last I checked.
I’m the only one she needs to make sure eats.
And no, I’m not being dramatic. This is perfectly normal behavior, even according to my father.
Mum said I shouldn’t listen to him, but she’s wrong in this instance.
I join my wife in the back seat, subtly searching for any red flags. As soon as the car moves, she faces me, a cryptic look casting a sheen over her expression.