Chapter 625 Samuel Goes Crazy: Taylor, Who Is He? 3
Samuel walked through the foyer into the main hall.
Taylor wasn't downstairs. He shrugged off his coat and asked the housekeeper, "Where's Taylor?"
The housekeeper, well aware of their marital troubles and sensing both their foul moods tonight, treaded carefully, "Mrs. Collins came home, had a light dinner, and went upstairs. She should be in the bedroom."
Samuel nodded and headed for the stairs.
"Mr. Collins."
The housekeeper called from the main hall, but Samuel, eager to confront Taylor upstairs, snapped impatiently, "Whatever it is, tell me when I come down for dinner."
The housekeeper swallowed her words. She'd wanted to tell Samuel about the lipstick on his shirt, but his arrogant attitude suggested he didn't need her reminder.
Samuel continued up to the second floor.
In the sitting room, Taylor reclined in a rocking chair, head tilted back, eyes closed in meditation. Her favorite music played softly from the vintage record player nearby.
But Taylor's mind was consumed with images of Samuel and Zenobia kissing and groping in the car. She'd expected this to happen eventually, but no woman wanted to witness such scenes, even if they served her divorce proceedings well.
Seven years of marriage, ending so miserably.
Tears slipped down Taylor's cheeks, invisible in the dim room.
A soft sound—the bedroom door opening. She knew Samuel had returned.
How remarkable that he hadn't stayed overnight at the hospital with Zenobia. After such passion, he'd actually managed to stop himself. Was it self-control, or had Zenobia simply not played her cards right?
The sitting room lay shrouded in shadows, the female vocalist's voice husky and melancholic.
Samuel didn't turn on the lights. Instead, he switched off the record player and knelt beside Taylor, looking up at her.
From this angle, her features were absolutely flawless—so beautiful they inspired reverence rather than lust.
Years ago, Samuel never would have dared imagine that a poor boy like him could marry such a wealthy beauty, could share a bed with her.
Samuel gently took Taylor's hand, murmuring softly, "Darling, I'm home."
Taylor's body trembled.
Darling—such a distant way of addressing her. So distant she'd almost forgotten Samuel had once called her that. When had he stopped? When had he begun calling her coldly "Taylor" or mockingly "Dr. Montague"?
How absurd that she was suddenly "Darling" again.
Taylor understood this had nothing to do with affection—Samuel simply had a guilty conscience.
She remained still in the darkness, watching him quietly, her voice hoarse when she spoke, "Before you came home, Samuel, I was repeatedly enjoying the passionate footage of you and Zenobia. I never knew you were such a skilled kisser, or that you enjoyed caressing a woman's waist. What a shame the parking garage didn't provide you with a comfortable bed."
Samuel's expression changed dramatically. "Taylor."
Taylor picked up her phone, pulling up the incriminating footage for Samuel to admire.
Without a trace of emotion, she said, "You two actually make quite a pair. Samuel, let's get divorced."
Samuel glanced at it for barely a second before hurling the phone against the wall. The latest model shattered into pieces against the opposite wall.
Samuel leaned forward aggressively, gripping Taylor's face roughly. "Taylor, were you having me followed?"
But the next second, his fingers recoiled as if burned. He'd felt Taylor's tears.
In that instant, Samuel's heart felt electrocuted. Throughout their courtship and marriage, he'd never seen her this devastated.
He'd planned to interrogate her about Julian, but here she sat, silently weeping in her chair.
Was she crying because of him?
Samuel's emotions churned in turmoil.
In this moment, he dimly realized that the greatest regret of his life might be that kiss in the car. If not for that kiss, perhaps everything could still be salvaged.
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