"Wow, you still have the audacity to refer to yourself as Myers?" Theodore sneered, a sly smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His piercing gaze bore into her, though he made a conscious effort to conceal how deeply she affected him, not wanting to give her the satisfaction.
"Didn't you use that name for me first? And now you have the nerve to question it?" Irene retorted, her voice laced with an undercurrent of frustration. She fought hard to suppress her fear, well aware that revealing her vulnerability would only plunge her into further chaos.
Her palms grew clammy, a telltale sign of her rising panic, a state she desperately wished to avoid.
"Is that so? Now you find your voice, huh?" Theodore sneered, his eyes fixating on her trembling hands. The sight elicited a smirk from him, fully aware of her mounting anxiety as she tried futilely to conceal it, a spectacle that only made him want to chuckle.
How could she possibly think she could hide her true emotions with such clumsy acts?
Did she believe he couldn't perceive them?
"Yeah, I did. How about you leave me be and get the hell out of here?" Irene's anxiety surged, her realisation growing that if she didn't remove this guy from her house soon, she would inevitably regret it.
She had a valid point; it was clearly unsafe to share a roof with this deranged individual. He exhibited an unmistakable level of madness, and Irene felt immense regret for allowing him into her home.
"That's not how we do things here, my dear Irene," Theodore said, his voice dripping with possessiveness as he raised his hand. Irene flinched, anticipating a slap, but instead, Theodore's hand gently cupped her cheek, his touch was surprisingly tender.
His gaze bore deeply into her brown eyes, confusion clouding his features. Why was she frightened by a mere movement of his hand? Did she truly believe he would harm her? The thought irked him, for he never laid a hand on a woman, no matter the circumstances.
"I..." Irene began, her voice trailing off as his icy hand pressed against her cheek, causing her entire body to feel as though it had turned to ice. His long fingers held her small, round right cheek with an almost reverent grip, as if it were the most precious thing in existence.
"What are you even thinking, Irene? He's just here, trying to touch you. That's not going to end well," her conscience screamed at her.
"Don't flinch. Speak when you're spoken to," Theodore possessively tightened his grip on her cheek.
Irene closed her eyes in pain, biting her lower lip to stifle any sound that might betray her agony caused by his actions.
Theodore revealed in the sight before him, taking pleasure in the visible fear etched on her face. He was intoxicated by the terror she harboured within her.
Her body, he noticed, was remarkably more appealing than her unattractive countenance. The flawless shape of her cleavage, somehow distinct in colour from the rest of her skin, drew his narrowed gaze.
Irene's eyes shot open, shock resonating through her as she heard his question. How did he know? How was this possible? Irene had always successfully concealed the makeup she used to mask her true appearance, never once being exposed in her entire life.
She scrutinised herself, realising that her dress today was far more revealing than what she normally wore to conceal her body. Due to the chaotic circumstances, neither she nor anyone else had noticed. It was an oversight she hadn't anticipated, and now she had to come up with a plan before her well-guarded secret was exposed. It hadn't even been a day since her marriage, yet she already felt on the verge of fainting if the truth she had concealed for years were to come to light. Who knew what the Jones family would do to her?
"What do you mean?" Irene's voice quivered, her tone low, as she attempted to squirm free from Theodore's grasp, determined to escape as soon as she could.
"Stop moving, Mrs. Myers," Theodore commanded, his hand tracing the visible, velvety softness of Irene's cleavage, which boasted a distinct pearly-white shade.
Theodore pondered the two-toned mystery before him. Why was her skin pearlescent white while her face remained unchanged? He hadn't noticed this disparity in the car, which only further perplexed him.
Theodore found amusement in his unconventional actions, revelling in the fact that Irene was the first woman he had touched in such a manner, yet he felt no repulsion or distaste.
The sound of "Mrs. Myers" sent a shiver down his spine, imbuing him with a sense of entitlement over her.
Theodore couldn't fathom why these thoughts plagued his mind, but he had no qualms entertaining them if they provided him with a twisted sense of satisfaction.
After all these years, he had stumbled upon something truly fascinating, and the impending punishment of his wife for slapping him promised to be a delight.
Irene ceased her struggles as commanded, blinking rapidly to dispel the discomfort caused by Theodore's fingers tracing her collarbone, an act that disgusted and disappointed her.
With no one else present in the house and no apparent escape route, Irene found herself at a loss. Theodore was a complete stranger, and he loomed over her with an intimidating presence. She couldn't bear to be assaulted again and again, haunted by the memories of what he had done in the car.
"Cyril, you're my brother-in-law. Theodore won't be pleased if he discovers you touching me like this," Irene said, attempting to intimidate Theodore with a dismissive glare.
"Take a good look at yourself, Irene, before making such claims. Do you really think my brother cares about you? Clearly, he doesn't, and you need to realise that," Theodore's voice grew darker, not because she called him by his name, but because she had the audacity to threaten him, something no one had ever done in his entire life. Irene's threat, using his own name against him, infuriated him even more, an act he found utterly disrespectful. Irene knew deep down that Theodore was speaking the truth. Why would he care about her when he didn't even bother attending their wedding? He wouldn't care about her now either. But she just wanted to intimidate him, to make him feel some shame. Even if his brother was disabled, Cyril had never shown any respect or care for Theodore, just like the rest of the Jones family treated her. "Get this through your head, Irene. Theodore won't care about you, even if you die right here," Theodore's tone remained firm as he chuckled, offering a proposi
Irene's heart pounded against her chest, threatening to burst out at any moment. She placed a trembling hand on her chest, feeling the intense thumping, a physical manifestation of her fear. She desperately tried to steady her breath. This man, this dangerous man, was far more menacing than the entire Jones family combined. Her own homely apartment, once a safe haven untouched by the Jones family or anyone from her past, was now infiltrated by his presence. The fact that he had the audacity to give her orders, orders that did nothing to lift her spirits, only added to her discontent. Irene was not just disturbed; she was deeply unsettled. She longed to take control, to assert her power over him. But could she really do it? "Shit!" she cursed silently, her body relaxing slightly as she realised she was momentarily away from him. She knew she had to cook something for him. To hasten his departure from her life. Such a headache! Irene splashed water on her face, trying to gather her
Irene's heart raced in her chest, thumping louder than ever before. The relief she felt earlier, when she managed to distance herself from him, now faded away. The man was approaching her, his footsteps unmistakable, and she dreaded what was about to unfold. Fear consumed her, gripping her tightly as she realised the gravity of the situation. It was all too overwhelming for her to bear, and she knew deep down that there was nothing she could do to escape it. "This smells absolutely dreadful," Theodore commented, drawing near to Irene. He placed his hand on her shoulder, causing her to jolt back and meet his face, which loomed far too close for comfort. "Huh?" Irene's mind went blank as his words reached her ears. Should she react to his intrusive proximity or to the fact that he was degrading her cooking and calling it disgusting? As she looked upon her creation, she knew it might not be a culinary masterpiece, but it certainly didn't warrant such harsh criticism. "I said this foo
"Done," Irene muttered, pouring out her thoughts and hastily serving the spaghetti. It was no easy task, but she managed to complete it. She could sense he was deliberately trying to provoke her, and at this point, she realised that the more she reacted to his words, the more he would continue with his antagonistic attitude. So, why not simply do things that wouldn't offend him and give him the opportunity to get under her skin? "Fine, then bring the food. I'll be waiting outside," Theodore replied as he exited the kitchen and headed towards the living room, anticipating his meal. Irene couldn't believe her ears. Wasn't he here all this time? Why couldn't he just take his own food instead of ordering her around like this? He knew how to play these mind games, which were clearly unnecessary. If he couldn't even take care of his own food, what more could he possibly do in his life other than using her husband's name to intimidate her? She didn't even want to acknowledge Theodore as
"You cooked this yourself?" Theodore inquired, his voice laced with scepticism. Deep down, he wanted to believe that it was simply impossible for her to cook something this good. It seemed too coincidental that she had managed to create the most perfect spaghetti he had ever tasted, rivalling the dishes he enjoyed in five-star hotels. He struggled to trust his own taste buds. It wasn't easy for anyone to replicate his mother's cooking, and even if Irene had somehow accomplished it, he found it hard to believe. He searched for a reason to deny the fact that this dish actually tasted good. "Yes, I did," Irene responded, her face displaying confusion. What did he mean by asking if she had cooked it? Wasn't he present in the kitchen when she was in the middle of preparing it? His question seemed to contradict his own observation. Moreover, it was only the two of them in the house. Who else could have helped her cook? The accusation seemed nonsensical, especially since he hadn't lifted a
Irene's frustration reached its peak, and she realised she couldn't tolerate him anymore. Her patience had run out, and she no longer had the will to compromise. Though Irene wished to speak these words directly to his face, she knew he would completely ignore her and proceed with his absurd plan to frighten her by using her husband's name, which was nothing short of a complete disaster. "Don't worry too much; I won't do anything harmful... yet," Theodore chuckled, amused by Irene's behaviour. Even though she tried to hide her face, it was evident how repulsed she was, to the point of wanting to kick him out. Her expression mirrored her disgust. The disguise as Cyril gave Theodore a sense of satisfaction. It was a clever strategy he used whenever he wanted to wander incognito. Not many people knew his cousin Cyril, who lived overseas. This anonymity provided a comforting shield. "Cyril, it would be best if you left. This doesn't feel right. My landlord won't allow a guy to stay he
"I want to talk to him. Only then can you stay here. It's nearly morning, and I have classes in a few hours. I need some rest," Irene spoke sternly, emphasising her point. If he insisted on being so stubborn, she wouldn't go easy on him. He could display his obstinacy elsewhere, not when she was in dire need of sleep. Otherwise, she would become nothing more than a sleep-deprived zombie. "Who gave you permission to use that tone with Cyril Myers?" Theodore clenched his teeth, shooting her an angry look. In truth, he wasn't truly angry with her stubborn behaviour; annoyance was a more accurate description. Nevertheless, he wanted to feign anger, just as she was attempting to project false confidence. Irene felt intimidated by his piercing green eyes, brimming with anger, and his furrowed brow, which lent him a menacing aura. It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to prevail in any argument within this room. "Furthermore, I have to work in a few hours. It would be best if we
Theodore's eyes narrow, his features contort with a mix of anger and worry. The standoff between them intensifies, emotions spiralling out of control. His mind races, torn between breaking down the door to ensure Irene's safety and respecting her desire for privacy."Enough! I won't leave until you open this door and let me in. I can't bear the thought of you hurt and in pain," Theodore's voice cracks, his words dripping with desperation and genuine concern.Inside the bathroom, Irene's resolve wavers. His words strike a chord deep within her, a reminder of the genuine care he holds for her well-being. But pride and a desire for independence still linger, creating a tumultuous inner struggle.A heavy silence descends upon them, each grappling with their own emotions and the weight of the situation. The atmosphere crackles with tension, their connection hanging in the balance.Minutes stretch into an eternity as they stand on opposite sides of the door, locked in a battle of wills. In