The urgency in his voice made everyone look at me with mocking eyes.
And honestly, I found it laughable as well.
Last night, when I had a heart attack, Michael was on his way out to stargaze with Daniela.
Even as I collapsed, frothing at the mouth, he didn’t flinch—just stepped right over me.
Before I blacked out, I heard him tell the housekeeper, “Disinfect the whole living room. Daniela is coming home tomorrow, I don’t want her to smell anything foul.”
Gripping the handle of my suitcase, I turned to leave again.
But he grabbed my wrist, staring at me coldly. “Apologize.”
“Wha—”
Before I could even speak, he yanked me down, forcing me to kneel in front of Daniela.
My knees scraped against the shards of jade, leaving blood stains on the pale floor.
Seeing the mess, Michael released me with a look of disgust.
“You broke her bracelet on purpose and injured her. Don’t you think an apology is the least you owe her?”
Since marrying Michael, “I’m sorry” had become my most-used phrase.
The soup I cooked was too bland, so I apologized.
Worried that he might feel uncomfortable after drinking, I sent him a message, disrupting his peace. I apologized again.