Chapter 487
"No, thanks," Natalie replied, her gaze cast downward. She could tell something was off with Oliver's mood.
" Liam, tell Charles I won't be returning to the office today." Just as she had anticipated, Oliver emerged and led her straight to the master bedroom.
Natalie pressed her lips together, her heartbeat quickened—a mix of guilt and a greater sense of powerlessness.
With a sharp clang, Oliver slammed the door of the master bedroom, sealing it shut.
From her wheelchair, Natalie watched Oliver as he paced the expansive room in rapid, purposeful strides, circling again and again like a caged animal desperate for escape.
She thought of the Oliver she once knew, the pride of the Windsor family, a dazzling and outstanding man who single-handedly founded RK Corporation. When had Oliver become so cornered?
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to deceive you," Natalie murmured, her head bowed, gazing at her fingers that had become almost skeletal. Had her wedding ring still been there, it probably would have slid off by now.
Oliver stopped pacing and looked at her from six feet away.
"Oliver, I... I can't eat, it makes me sick," she said, her tone as calm as if she were speaking of someone else's plight, yet it stirred a feeling of sympathy and sorrow for her.
"Is it always like this?" After a long pause, those words were all Oliver could muster.
Natalie nodded. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to deceive you," she repeated.
Despite her exhaustion, she was apologizing to him, and it hurt Oliver so much that he struggled to breathe.
Crack—Crack—
Two piercing snaps rang out as a crystal glass shattered instantly in Oliver's grasp, crushed by his hand.
Natalie's eyelashes fluttered in shock at the sudden scene, and then she saw the crimson blood seep from between Oliver's fingers, pooling and dripping down to the floor, quickly staining the carpet red.
"Oliver, your hand..." she cautioned him.
He seemed to feel no pain, stepping through the broken shards in his soft slippers, and approaching Natalie step by step.
It was only a few steps, yet Natalie had the strange impression that he had expended a lifetime's worth of energy to make them.
"Natalie, what am I to you?" This was not the first time Oliver had asked her this question.
"My husband." The man she once loved dearly, but now... a part of her past she was trying to sever.
Still a husband, not a lover. After a year, he was still not her lover, only her husband by title, a binding commitment.
When Oliver caught sight of the woman before him, so frail that a gust of wind might knock her over, he couldn't even muster a bitter smile.
Natalie pried open Oliver's hand, and his blood surged for a moment as he relaxed his grip. A few tiny fragments lay in his palm—fortunately, it hadn't embedded deep in the skin. It would be a greater concern if they were shards of glass.
"I'll call a doctor for you," he said.
Natalie wheeled over to the intercom, reaching for the microphone, but Oliver's injured hand covered it—a smear of blood marking the device, which looked painfully sore to even gaze upon.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
