Chapter 3

The next morning, sure enough, the spot beside me in bed was cold.

Only a crumpled note remained on the pillow, the handwriting scrawled with a little crying face drawn on it:

“Chloe, I had to leave urgently. Don’t miss me.”

I angrily crumpled the note.

Miss him? No way!

Wore me out all night, then just ghosted me?

I thought that was the end of it, just my husband having a temporary breakdown from stress on the road.

But over the next month, Jax simply vanished.

Until that rainy night.

I worked overtime until midnight, returning home soaked to the bone.

I pushed open the door, and the lights were off, but someone was sitting inside.

The figure was tall and straight, sitting on that creaky folding chair, somehow radiating the aura of a king on his throne.

My heart lifted, not yet noticing anything wrong, I dropped my bag and rushed towards him.

“Husband! Where have you been? You never answered my calls!”

Normally, the brute would’ve pulled me into a fierce embrace and started kissing me senseless, or the gentle one would have rushed to hug me.

But this man didn’t move.

He didn’t even lift an eyelid.

He held an unlit cigarette in his hand, and by the flash of lightning outside the window, I saw a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

Glasses?

When did Jax get nearsighted?

He slowly raised his gaze, those eyes deep as stagnant pools, devoid of any emotion.

That bone-chilling stare instantly froze all my enthusiasm into ice shards.

I stood rooted to the spot, my outstretched hand awkwardly suspended in mid-air.

“Hus… band?”

I called out, uncertainly.

The face, the body, it was definitely him.

But the way he looked at me was like I was an ant, or… a cheap commodity.

He finally moved.

Slowly, he put the cigarette on the table and stood up.

That oppressive aura washed over me, a hundred times stronger than the tough guy, the undeniable presence of a superior.

He advanced, step by step, until he had me cornered against the wall, with nowhere to retreat.

His long fingers hooked under my chin, the pressure neither light nor heavy, but laced with an undeniable command.

“For the past month, you’ve been living in this pigsty?”

His voice was low and magnetic, yet cold enough to drop ice shards.

I was bewildered.

Pigsty?

Isn't this the home we'd lived in for months? He even said it was cozy when we got married!

“Jax, what the hell is wrong with you? If you hate it so much, don’t come back!”

I exploded, swatting his hand away.

He didn’t get angry. Instead, a mocking smirk played on his lips.

“Jax?”

He repeated the name softly, his tone playful.

“Fine, then I’ll be Jax.”

He slowly unbuttoned his shirt collar, his movements as elegant as if he were unwrapping a work of art.

Then he grabbed my wrist and tossed me onto that flimsy bed.

His tone was as detached as if he were discussing business, devoid of any emotion:

“Since we’re married, it’s time to fulfill your duties. Lie still, legs open.”