I struggled, trying to wrench myself free, but every movement sent sharp, stabbing pain through my abdomen.
Christopher didn’t care. He dragged me into the room with force, slamming the door shut behind us.
That night, just as I expected, the bedroom walls echoed with the sounds of pleasure.
I curled into the corner of the sofa, pressing my hands over my ears, trying to drown it out.
But fate seemed to enjoy tormenting me.
The TV flickered on, displaying today’s headlines—clips of Christopher and Lisa, smiling, laughing, their fingers intertwined like lovers in a fairytale.
The contrast was unbearable.
I reached for the remote, wanting to turn it off, but my hands trembled so violently I couldn’t even grip it.
The moans from the bedroom intertwined with the syrupy sweetness on the screen, twisting into a grotesque lullaby.
I clenched my nails into my palms, digging deep, trying to anchor myself against the suffocating pain. But even that no longer hurt.
By the time the bedroom door finally creaked open, dawn had begun to break.
Christopher emerged first, Lisa trailing behind, draped lazily in his arms.
He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, his expression tender—so different from the way he looked at me.
Then, his gaze shifted, locking onto me. His voice remained as indifferent as ever.
“Go home.” His words were a dismissal, a cruel mockery. “Didn’t you love being Mrs. Adam? Hope you enjoyed it enough tonight.”
With that, he stroked Lisa’s cheek a few times, whispering something that made her giggle, before grabbing my wrist and yanking me toward the door.
I knew Christopher wouldn’t let me leave so easily.
And sure enough, the moment we stepped outside the hotel, I was ambushed.
A sea of reporters swarmed toward me like ravenous wolves, cameras flashing like gunfire.
I wasn’t at yesterday’s press conference, so they must have been holding back their questions, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
And Christopher had delivered me straight to them—offering me up like prey.
The moment they spotted me, they pounced.
Microphones shoved toward my face.
Blinding lights flashing relentlessly.
“Mrs. Adam, have you seen the footage of Mr. Adam and Miss Goodrem at yesterday’s press conference? What are your thoughts?”
“Mrs. Adam, is it true your marriage is on the rocks?”
“Mrs. Adam, Miss Goodrem claims she and Mr. Adam are just like siblings—do you believe her?”