Holding my bleeding arm, I swallowed the pain and spoke flatly. “Callum, we haven’t seen each other in eight years. And the first thing you do is bring your lover into my home to hit me? She barged in and attacked me. Am I not allowed to push her away?”
Only then did Callum notice the blood on my arm and the swelling on my face. His expression shifted instantly, and he tried to step toward me. “What happened?”
The woman, just moments ago all fire and rage, suddenly clung to his arm, eyes red with fake tears. “Callum, when I walked in, I saw this woman sneaking toward your bedroom. I thought she was a thief. I was scared, so I tried to stop her. Maybe… maybe I was too anxious and accidentally hurt her.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she added, “She looked so old-fashioned, I honestly didn’t think she was your wife. Hey, if you’re angry, feel free to hit me back if you'd like. But don’t accuse me of having something with Callum. That’s an insult to both of us.”
“You didn’t—” I frowned, ready to repeat every vicious word she had said when she first hit me.
But Callum grabbed my arm before I could finish. “Enough, Elara. This is partly your fault, too. If you had just told her you were coming home, she wouldn’t have mistaken you for a thief.”
He then coughed lightly, trying to soften his tone as he explained, “By the way, this is the widow I told you about. I came back this time to bring you, Mom, and my siblings to Washington for a better life. She kindly came with me to help organize the move. How could you misunderstand her relationship with me? Go on, apologize to her.”
I stared at the man in front of me, disappointment weighing down my chest. Without a word, I turned and walked toward my room.
Behind me, Callum forced a smile and tried to smooth things over with Briar. Then he grabbed my arm and pushed me toward the kitchen. “How about let Elara cook you a nice big dinner as an apology?”
Elara's POV
“You love fried carp fillet, don’t you? I’ll have her make it for you right now,” Callum added.
Before I could react, he shoved me into the kitchen, ignoring my struggle, and tossed a slimy, foul-smelling fish onto me.
“Make a good meal for her. Don’t cause trouble,” he ordered, then shut the kitchen door behind me with a loud bang.
I rushed forward and yanked at the doorknob several times, but it wouldn’t budge.