Chapter 9 Chapter Nine
My eyes stay locked on them.
The woman doesn’t stop smiling. If anything, there’s a fascinating look etched on her face, directed at me. Like she’s... delighted to see me or something.
I highly doubt that. Because my eyes dip to her hand still wrapped around his arm, and my chest involuntarily tightens. She can’t be delighted to see me if she’s still holding onto him like that. I wonder if she knows I’m his legal wife.
I wonder about a lot of things. But more importantly, who is she?
A friend?
Business partner?
Or someone he brought home for the night to make me jealous?
No, wait—what if he’s reconsidered my request for an annulment, and this lady is just my replacement?
That assumption should send a surge of excitement and optimism through me, but surprisingly, it doesn’t. If anything, I feel... upset.
My stomach makes that rumbling noise again, jolting me from my thoughts.
A wave of mortification washes over me, and I wonder if they just heard the tantrum from my starving stomach. So embarrassing.
I should probably just head to where I was going before they walked in on me—that should be the kitchen.
Breaking eye contact, I force a faint smile on my lips and bow slightly in acknowledgment before turning away.
My back is turned to them as I begin making my way toward the kitchen. But suddenly, I’m not even conscious of my steps anymore.
His excruciating gaze—which I’m certain is piercing my back right now—makes my heart race wildly. But I try to remain calm.
I shouldn’t feel affected by him just because he brought a woman home after revoking my right to leave.
After abandoning me in New York for three days — this is what I get as his returning gift. How sweet of him.
—That’s sarcasm. He’s an asshole.
Cause I see no reason why he should keep me locked up when he has his own girlfriend or whatever she is.
Maybe I’m just overthinking this. What if she’s just a friend? Or a relative?
Nah, screw this.
I shake my head as I’m about to enter the kitchen, clearing all thoughts of him away and reminding myself that I do not care—I shouldn’t.
If that young lady is truly his new love interest, I should be buzzing with elation because now I finally have the means to leave without breaking my back.
He’d likely dump me for her. After all, I was the one who asked for an annulment.
I inhale deeply, realizing I’m out of their sight. I know because I just looked over my shoulder and didn’t find them behind me after I took the corner to the kitchen.
I let out a breath, swallow hard, then step into the massive kitchen that’s as immaculately white as the rest of the house. There’s a large island, two double counters, a gas cooker, a refrigerator, and all the other things that can be found in a luxurious kitchen.
The size of the kitchen alone could serve as one of the rooms in my prior apartment—damn. I’ve been labeled poor without actually being labeled.
I sigh wearily and continue walking, heading toward the refrigerator on the other side to grab a bottle of water.
Absentmindedly walking, I don’t realize someone’s head is shoved in it until I get close.
Startled, I instinctively jerk back when the said someone abruptly pulls her head from the fridge and looks over at me.
"Jeez, you scared me," I exclaim, a hand clutching my chest as her fiery red hair comes into view.
Mere surprise etches across Agnes’s face as she acknowledges my presence.
"Didn’t realize," is all she says before shutting the fridge and moving to one of the counters to resume cutting vegetables on a chopping board.
Reeling from my momentary shock, I lower my hand from my chest and let my eyes trail her movements. I can’t help but read her body language.
I don’t think she’s pleased to see me. There’s a neutral expression on her face that barely masks the malice beneath, and her shoulders are hunched with tension. I can see right through her, though.
Agnes is pissed at me. And I think I might know why.
Still, I can’t deny that I’m genuinely happy to see her. I thought she’d lost her job because of me—or was facing some other unbearable punishment.
So with a placating smile, I saunter to where she is and pull out one of the kitchen stools from beneath the counter.
Agnes casts me a glance—more like a glare. "You shouldn’t be in here."
"I’m hungry. I came down to get some food," I reply, hoping she’ll meet my gaze, but she doesn’t.
In fact, she avoids me like the plague, stalking back to the refrigerator without a word. She opens it and pulls out a container—food.
Then, with frustration exuding from her, she crosses over to the microwave, opens it, and shoves the container inside. She sets the timer before closing it again.
She doesn’t return to what she was doing. No, she deliberately waits for the microwave to ding before unpacking the food into a plate.
Then she brings it over to me. "Here. Now leave, please," she adds coldly, though I still sense the plea and malice in her tone.
I shake my head. "No, I’m not leaving."
"Why?" She glares.
But I remain calm. "Because I prefer to eat here. And also, I’m not leaving until you tell me why you’re mad at me—and don’t pretend you aren’t, because I can see right through you."
"Oh, yeah? Can you also see right through how my heart bleeds at your betrayal?"The weight of her sarcastic response makes my heart clench.
"Agnes—"
She holds up a hand and shakes her head. "Just go, ma’am. I don’t want to talk to you, please."
"It’s Liora, Agnes," I sigh. "I’ve told you to always address me by my name."
"Sorry, but I can’t do that," she says heavily, picking up the knife and starting to chop again.
"I understand. But it’s better you don’t address me at all—that ‘ma’am’ makes me sick, I swear," I say, trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but Agnes finds no amusement in it.
Her expression remains stoic, and it makes my chest tighten. I know I’ve barely been acquainted with her, but I honestly don’t like seeing her this way.
No, I generally don’t like seeing people mad at me. The guilt it fills me with is excruciating, and I hate having to experience it.
"Talk to me, Agnes. What are you so mad about?" I implore.
Obviously fed up with my incessant questions, she drops her knife and turns to me sharply. "You want to know what I’m so mad about?"
"Yeah. Why did you stop coming to my room?"
"The boss had me removed from serving you."
"Why?"
She whisper-yells, "Because he thought I had a hand in your escape, Liora!"
"But you didn’t," I say with a frown.
She shrugs. "Yeah, well, he didn’t believe me when I said so, and I nearly lost my job because of you. Because you deceived and used me in your ploy."
A pang of remorse grips me as my eyes meet her hurt ones. "Agnes, I am so sorry."
She shakes her head slightly. "There’s no need to apologize. I’d prefer if you just stay away from me." Then she picks up her knife again and starts cutting a carrot.
I observe her and everything surrounding her. There are plenty of fresh vegetables on the counter, waiting to be cut. She’ll probably spend hours trying to finish them.
I wonder if helping her would make her reconsider her—
"Don’t even think about it." I’m abruptly wrenched from my thoughts by her voice.
I meet her gaze, but she’s scowling.
Playing dumb, I ask, "Don’t even think about what?"
"I don’t need your help. Just eat your food and go back to your room."
I shrug defiantly. "Well, you might not need my help, but I need your forgiveness, Agnes. And I’m not leaving until you give me that."
She pauses and stares at me like I’m some stubborn kid she’s run out of ways to handle. "You’re not going to let it go, are you?"
I reply with a firm shake of my head. "Nope."
She rolls her eyes and sighs, relenting. "Fine. Only on one condition."
I raise my palm. "Name it."
"You will never pull a stunt like that again. Never lie to me again…"
"Those are two conditions, Agnes," I interrupt with a mischievous grin.
"Do you want my forgiveness or not?" She arches a brow.
"I do, I do." I snicker, clamping my lips shut to stop myself from grinning manically.
"Well, if you do, you’ll meet my terms. Promise me."
About the escaping part, I’m not so sure I can promise her I wouldn’t try again—it all depends on whether her boss will eventually lets me go or I’ll have to fight for my freedom myself.
But of course, Agnes doesn’t need to know that.
With a pacifying smile, I nod. "I promise never to lie to you again. And I’m sorry I got you in trouble."
"It’s okay, Liora. I forgive you," she says, and I return a grateful smile.
My heart cools with relief, and I can’t help letting out an exasperated breath.
After a moment of silence—
"Your food’s getting cold. You should eat," Agnes points out while breaking some celery.
I nod, pick up the cutlery, and begin eating. I can’t lie—I feel at peace now that I’ve received Agnes’s forgiveness.
However, my relief is short-lived when I’m reminded of the bombshell I encountered before coming here—the one I saw with Him.
My smile gradually fades, my heart clenching and unclenching at nothing.
To think I left the two of them alone in the living room. Who knows what they’re doing right now?
Is he kissing her like he kissed me a few days ago?
Is he touching—
What the fuck is your problem, Liora?
Get it together. You don’t care what he does.
"What’s the matter?" Agnes asks, probably noticing my shift in expression.
I shake my head and try to wave her off, claiming it’s nothing.
But then my curiosity ultimately gets the better of me. Agnes probably knows everyone around the house, including those close to Lorenzo.
Could she know who that lady is?
I should probably just ask her since I’m so eager to know.
I clear my throat and am about to do just that when another voice resonates through the kitchen, calling out to me.
It’s feminine, accentuated by the click of heels on the marbled floor.
I instantly turn my head in the direction of the sound, and a lump lodges in my throat when I lock eyes with Lorenzo’s bombshell.
But what surprises me most—aside from her unexpected entry—is that she just addressed me by my name.
"Hello, Liora,"
With that same blinding smile on her face.
My heart instantly dips.