Chapter 459 Albert, You Have No Right to Control Me.
As night fell, lights twinkled like stars against the darkness, outlining the city's silhouette.
Albert entered the room, rolling up his sleeves and loosening his tie with a quick tug, his expression stern. His deep gaze fell on Yvette, who sat on the sofa by the bed, doing nothing but staring silently out the window.
There was something desolate and quiet about her entire presence.
Albert approached and sat beside her. Following her line of sight, he realized she was gazing at the luminous moon hanging in the sky. Her delicate, beautiful eyes held an inexplicable depth and melancholy.
For a moment, Albert wanted to pull her into his arms and soothe her troubled mind. His fingers twitched, but ultimately, he restrained himself.
The things Violet had told him—he should have investigated, sought confirmation. Vincent had asked him several times about the situation, but Albert hadn't allowed him to pursue it further.
He couldn't explain why he was afraid to face the truth that was right in front of him. Every fiber of his being responded to her sadness. Moonlight spilled across her face, highlighting the contours of her cheeks.
"What's wrong?" Albert asked, his voice low.
Yvette remained silent, though her breathing grew heavier.
Noticing her distress, Albert frowned and raised his hand to touch her forehead. His palm was warm and dry as it made contact, but Yvette flinched, instinctively pulling away from his touch.
Albert's hand hung in the air for a moment before he tried again.
Yvette's face showed impatience as she pushed his hand away, her eyes distant and cold as she stared at him.
As Albert was about to question her, his peripheral vision caught a neatly folded navy-blue scarf beside her.
Its fine texture and elegant quality felt oddly familiar.
Albert's lips tightened as a storm brewed in his eyes. That meddlesome Hayes man had been wearing this exact scarf when speaking with Yvette outside the preschool.
"Where did this scarf come from?" Albert asked, his voice cooling though his tone remained even.
Yvette glanced down briefly and explained dismissively, "Someone gave it to me."
Albert picked up the scarf, his long fingers gripping it tightly, as if he wanted to crush it. His jawline tensed, his deep eyes flashing with anger.
"Which man gave it to you?" he demanded.
Yvette looked startled, glancing again at the scarf. Only then did she realize it was a men's scarf. Why would Seraphina, the preschool teacher, have a navy-blue men's scarf to lend her?
She frowned, suddenly remembering where she'd seen it before—on Niamh's uncle.
Yvette grew anxious, knowing Albert was wary of him.
"Seraphina lent it to me," she explained. "She saw I wasn't dressed warmly enough and even brought me hot milk."
She reached for the scarf. "Give it to me. I'll wash it and return it to Seraphina tomorrow."
Before her fingers could touch the fabric, Albert seized her wrist, pulling her toward him with considerable force.
Yvette lost her balance and collided with his chest. She instinctively pushed against him, feeling only solid muscle beneath her palms.
Looking up, her vision was filled with his hardened face.
His lips formed a tight line. "Yvette, are you now using the preschool teacher as a cover?"
His accusation struck Yvette as absurd. A man who spent the day in a hotel with his girlfriend of over a decade came home at night to accuse her over a scarf.
Yvette laughed bitterly inside. He always deflected blame, doing whatever he pleased while restricting her normal life.
She slowly raised her eyes, filled only with detachment and distance.
"I've done nothing that needs covering up," she paused, her lips curling into a faint, mocking smile. "Albert, you have no right to control me."
Albert's eyes snapped up, growing icier, those deep dark orbs instantly frosting over.
"I have no right?" he echoed.
"Yes."
He grabbed the soft scarf and tore it apart, the fabric giving way like tissue paper in his fury.
He fixed his gaze on Yvette, each word as sharp as ice: "If I ever see another man's belongings in this house again, you won't be leaving it."
His tone was flat, emotionless, like a cold judge delivering a verdict.
Pain flashed in Yvette's eyes as she stared at him, defiance filling her clear gaze. "Do whatever you want," she said softly but firmly.
Albert watched her, his anger intensifying. His hand clutched the torn scarf so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Yvette lowered her eyes, no longer looking at him.
She rose slowly. "I'm going to be with the children."
Later that night, BoBo and CiCi lay in bed, their sleeping faces peaceful. Cold moonlight bathed their faces as Yvette lay quietly between them, listening to their steady, calm breathing.
Being with her children was more beautiful than anything else in the world.
The doorknob turned slightly, making just enough noise for Yvette to notice.
She frowned, instinctively checking on the children. Thankfully, they were in deep sleep.
Yvette looked up to see Albert standing in the doorway, his silhouette blurred by the light breaking through the darkness behind him.
The sudden brightness made her squint.
As her eyes adjusted, she remained silent, simply watching him.
Finally, Albert broke the silence.
"Are they asleep?" he asked in a hushed voice.
Not wanting to disturb the children, Yvette carefully rose and followed him out of the room, gently closing the door behind them.
As soon as they entered their bedroom, Yvette was pulled into his arms.
She collided with his solid chest, stiffening at his touch.
In the next moment, Albert wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her firmly against him.
His familiar scent filled her nostrils and lungs, his dominance and anger instantly communicating themselves to Yvette.
She resisted slightly, twisting her body, but couldn't break free.
The arm around her waist tightened as Albert's deep, husky voice reached her ear, "Are you falling for that man?"
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