Chapter 4
I waited a whole day, but William never showed up.
The bedroom window was wide open, and cold wind was pouring into the room.
But the coldness on my body was nothing compared to the frost in my heart—that cut deep to the bone.
That day, I thought about so many things—from my first meeting with William, to falling in love during our college years, to his proposal at graduation.
These scenes flashed before my eyes like a romantic youth movie, sweet and beautiful.
During our three years of marriage, we were like any normal couple—we'd argue over little things, and we'd even give each other the silent treatment because of conflicts between me and his mother, Harper Anderson, or pressure from elders about having kids.
But no matter how much we fought, neither of us ever said anything harsh about breaking up or divorce just to win an argument.
At most, I'd go silent, or William would slam the door in anger.
This was a rule we'd set from the day we became a couple.
We could argue, we could disagree, but we could never casually talk about breaking up. If either of us mentioned it, that would mean our relationship had reached its end.
All these years, we both kept this in mind.
William would carefully prepare gifts, and I'd cook him a delicious meal. We didn't need to say much—just one look at each other, and all the resentment would disappear, and we'd admit our mistakes.
I thought this was our special connection, an unspoken understanding, a love carved into our bones.
Now I see how naive I was.
William didn't love me at all. He just needed a good wife at home while keeping a mistress on the side.
Maybe this was just how all men were, and I was no exception.
A tear rolled down my cheek. My stomach growled in protest. I looked at the red marks on my wrists from the rope, and I already knew the answer.
My marriage with William was over.
Just as I was getting dizzy from low blood sugar and hunger, the quiet villa finally came alive with sound.
"William? Layla? Are you home?"
It was Matthew!
Right—last time William and I had to leave suddenly, making Matthew wait outside for over two hours.
After that, we added his fingerprint to the lock so he wouldn't have to wait again.
Besides, with Matthew's manners, he'd never just barge in uninvited.
I wanted to shout Matthew's name, to get him to save me.
But I hadn't had any water all day. When I opened my mouth, my voice came out hoarse as a whisper, my throat dry and painful—there was no way to get his attention.
I looked at the lamp on the nightstand. Using all my strength, I managed to grip the cord between my fingers and pull it to the floor.
The lamp crashed down, the bulb shattered—in the huge villa, the sound was especially jarring.
Footsteps quickly came up from downstairs.
William had locked the door from the outside before he left!
Matthew couldn't open it. He knocked twice, his voice urgent. "Layla, are you in there?"
I pushed through the pain in my dry throat and managed a weak response.
"Hold on."
Those simple words somehow made me feel safe.
Even as the door shook from his attempts to break it down, I wasn't scared at all.
Finally, Matthew kicked the door open.
He stood backlit by the glow from outside, surrounded by warm light, walking slowly toward me.
"Did William do this?"
I didn't have the strength to speak, just made a weak sound like a sick cat.
Matthew said nothing. He didn't turn on the light, so I couldn't see his expression—I could only feel the cold anger radiating from him.
He gently untied the ropes and took off his suit jacket, wrapping it around me.
When he reached out to pick me up, I instinctively pulled away.
Matthew paused for a moment, then changed the subject. "Rest for a bit. I'll get you some honey water."
"Okay."
His suit jacket still held his body warmth and a faint scent of tobacco and cologne, gradually driving away the cold from my body.
Soon, he came back with warm honey water and chocolate.
We sat side by side, the warm yellow light from the hallway casting in. I quietly finished the chocolate and water, finally getting some strength back.
"Thank you."
"You two..." Matthew, this master negotiator who commanded boardrooms, now seemed at a loss for words.
He pressed his lips together, as if realizing he shouldn't say more, and stopped mid-sentence.
In the quiet space, the atmosphere grew awkward and tense.
I suddenly remembered my impulsive moment last night, and my cheeks grew hot.
Luckily, the room was dim—he couldn't see.
After a long silence, Matthew finally spoke. "Let me take you to the hospital."
"No need, it's just low blood sugar." I shook my head. "Can you take me to a hotel?"
"Okay."
I underestimated my condition. I thought eating would restore my strength, but I forgot my hands and feet had been tied all day—the blood circulation was cut off. I couldn't just get up and walk.
The moment I stood, my head spun and I fell forward.
"Careful." Matthew sighed softly and suddenly swept me up in his arms. "I know you don't want to stay here or see William. I'll arrange a place for you to stay temporarily."
"Thank you."
Maybe because of that night when we almost crossed the line, facing Matthew's cold, proud face now stirred something different in me—my heart beat faster.
Matthew carried me straight to the Cullinan parked outside.
He gently set me down and turned to open the car door.
Just then, a bright light shone on us, and we both raised our hands to shield our eyes.
"Layla, who said you could leave!" William's angry shout rang out. Pain shot through my wrist as he yanked me with brute force.
My legs were weak, and I was about to fall when Matthew caught me and blocked William with his large frame.
"William! Let go!"
Seeing it was Matthew, William's aggression faded, but facing me, he still had that superior attitude.
"Matthew, it's you."
"If I hadn't come today, how long were you planning to keep Layla locked up? One day? Two days? Forever?" Matthew radiated a suffocating pressure. His cold stare clearly shook William's confidence.
He touched his nose, weakly saying, "Matthew, it's not as serious as you're making it sound. It's just a little game between husband and wife."
"A game? I didn't know what kind of game involves tying up Layla and giving her no water or food for a whole day!"
Hearing this, William seemed to just remember I hadn't eaten all day.
His eyes filled with guilt. Like a child who'd done something wrong, he walked up to me, his voice soft. "Layla, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
Before he could finish, I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face.
"Layla! Are you crazy!" William, who'd been all apologetic just a moment ago, suddenly exploded in rage, glaring at me.
Looking at this man I'd loved for ten years, I felt nothing anymore. No emotion stirred in my heart—only disappointment and disgust.
"William, you make me sick." With that, I turned and walked toward my car.