Chapter 95
The air inside the car gradually froze.
The glow from the streetlights outside swept across James's face one after another. In the alternating light and shadow, I saw his tightly pressed lips and the tense line of his jaw.
"I already told you." He spoke word by word, his voice cold and hard as iron. "You want a divorce? Impossible."
I met his gaze without backing down an inch: "Then let me make this clear too - this marriage must end, even if it kills me."
"Sophia!" He growled and suddenly grabbed my wrist.
I frowned in pain but refused to show weakness: "What, is Mr. Smith going to get physical now?"
"Why do you have to be like this?" His deep voice suppressed some emotion I couldn't read. "Can't we just..."
"No, we can't." I cut him off sharply. "James, a person's heart doesn't turn cold all at once. Haven't you hurt me enough already?"
"I've apologized more than once. What more do you want from me?" His grip loosened slightly, but he still didn't let go.
"What's your apology worth?" I laughed, but tears stubbornly welled up in my eyes. "The damage you've done to me is already done. You think you can brush me off with some flimsy apology? Am I your dog, wagging my tail for a bone?"
"That's not what I meant—"
"Then what did you mean?" I pulled my hand back with all my strength. My wrist was already red in a circle. "James, I can't even count how many times you've broken my heart these past few years."
"It's not..."
"Stop talking. I don't want to talk to you anymore." I raised my hand to wipe away the stubborn tears at the corner of my eyes. "Stop the car. I want to get out."
James didn't move.
"I said Stop the car!" I raised my voice and reached for the door handle.
"Sophia, stop making a scene." He grabbed my wrist again, this time with more force.
"I'm making a scene?" I was shaking with anger. "James, let go of me! I don't want to be in the same space as you, not for one more second!"
I struggled desperately, using my other hand to pry his fingers off, kicking at him with my feet.
But no matter how much I kicked and hit him, he wouldn't let go. Instead, he yanked hard and pulled me into his arms.
"Let go of me!"
My angry shout was stuck in my throat.
James locked me in his arms, and no matter how much I twisted and pounded, he didn't budge.
"James, you bastard! Let me go!" I pushed him with all my strength, then opened my mouth and bit down hard on his shoulder.
I used all my strength, but he only let out a muffled grunt without letting go. Instead, he held me even tighter.
"Go ahead, bite." His voice came from above my head, carrying an almost stubborn calmness. "If it makes you feel better, bite all you want."
I released my bite, breathing heavily, tears finally falling despite myself: "What do you want... James, what do you want..."
I've really had enough!
I clearly made up my mind to cut ties with him completely, but here I am still tangled up with him.
It's like I've walked into a maze, going in circles, unable to find the exit, no matter how hard I try.
He didn't answer my question.
I stopped struggling, too, like a soulless puppet, stiffly held in his embrace.
The car slowly came to a stop.
"Get out." James released me, his expression returning to its usual coldness, as if the person who had just lost control and been ruled by emotion wasn't him.
I didn't move.
He opened the car door: "Looks like you want me to carry you out."
We were at the entrance of The Smith Mansion. Forget about whether there were cameras at the door - if he carried me inside and the servants saw, what would they think?
Even though we were still husband and wife on the surface, in my heart, we weren't anymore.
I don't want to be misunderstood together with him.
I glared at him hard and got out of the car.
From all the struggling earlier, my dress was wrinkled beyond recognition, and my hair was messy.
James wasn't much better off. The buttons on his suit jacket had popped open, and his mouth was a bit too red.
If his mouth looked like that, mine probably wasn't any better.
There we stood at the entrance of The Smith Mansion, both looking completely disheveled.
I lifted my leg and walked inside.
The servant Zola heard the noise and came to open the door. Seeing us like this, she froze for a moment, then showed a knowing and suggestive smile.
"Mr. Smith, Mrs. Smith is back, your clothes..."
Her eyes swept over our messy clothing, and her smile deepened.
I could tell without even thinking that she had definitely misunderstood.
I covered my mouth, about to explain: "Zola, it's not..."
James remained composed and naturally reached out to put his arm around my waist: "Has Grandma gone to bed?"
"Mrs. Indigo Smith hasn't rested yet. She's watching TV in the living room." Zola quickly stepped aside to let us in, her eyes constantly glancing at us.
I could feel the gazes of the other servants tidying up in the living room, their whispered conversations faintly reaching my ears.
"Mr. Smith and Mrs. Smith have such a good relationship..."
"Yes, look at their clothes, and those mouths, they couldn't help themselves in the car..."
"Their relationship is so good, they get intimate as soon as they see each other. How could they hold back?"
My face burned red. I wanted to break free from James's hand, but he tightened his grip, almost forcing me to walk with him toward the living room.
Indigo sat on the rosewood sofa in the living room, wearing reading glasses, watching TV.
Hearing footsteps, she turned her head.
"Grandma," James called out.
"Grandma." I followed with a soft greeting.
Indigo's gaze swept over us, her eyes behind the reading glasses narrowing as she showed a meaningful smile.
"You're back. How did your clothes get all wrinkled on this outing?"
"This type of fabric wrinkles easily," James said without changing his expression.
"Sophia's dress doesn't look like it wrinkles that easily." Indigo looked at my wrinkled hem with a smile.
"I, I..." I really couldn't find an excuse.
"What's wrong with you?" Grandma smiled kindly. "Young people, it's good that you have a strong relationship, but you need to be mindful of the occasion."
I screamed internally: Grandma, it's really not what you think!
"We're going upstairs to change." James didn't explain at all, just said this, and was about to take me upstairs with his arm around me.
"Your clothes have been wrinkled all this time; a little longer won't make a difference." Indigo stopped us, took off her reading glasses, and patted the spot next to her. "Come, sit. Keep me company and chat."
I couldn't refuse Indigo, who genuinely cared about me. I sat down on the sofa across from her.
I took the opportunity to shake off James's arm from around me.
"Was Mr. Schmidt's birthday party lively tonight?" Indigo asked slowly.
"Pretty lively," James answered.
"I heard there was a little incident?" Indigo looked at me, her gaze gentle but sharp with insight.
My heart tightened.
Had what happened at Alfonso's birthday party already reached Indigo's ears so quickly?