“After all, you’re the woman I liked since childhood. No one else’s body ever pleased me as much as yours.”
He stared at me intently, eyes searching—desperate to find the slightest trace of jealousy, heartbreak, or longing.
But what he saw only disappointed him.
My gaze was dead—emptied of hope, feeling, or life.
“Sheryl, don’t go too far! I gave you a chance—all I asked was for you to lower your head. Was that so difficult?”
“You killed my parents. And I still didn’t divorce you. What more do you want from me?!”
So that was all it would take—just one word from me to end it all.
But it was already too late.
I closed my eyes, a hollow ache spreading in my chest as I whispered, “If I ask you to divorce me now, will you say yes?”
The lust in his eyes vanished. He shoved me off him without warning.
I hit the floor hard, my bones rattling from the impact.
“Don’t think I won’t divorce you. I’m just waiting for you to crawl back on your knees like always!”
“If you love watching me with other women so much, then I’ll make sure you get a front-row seat!”
I didn’t respond. Just calmly got up and opened the drawer by the bed.
“Which brand do you want tonight? Okamoto again? Is three enough?”