He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? - Chapter 86: Chapter 86
You are reading He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters?, Chapter 86: Chapter 86. Read more chapters of He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters?.
During our first year of marriage, my husband hired a live-in housekeeper to "help me through the pregnancy."
On day one, I found her hand-washing his boxers.
Awkward.
"Maria, you don't need to handle my husband's underwear. I'll do it."
Her eyes instantly welled up.
"Of course... sorry..."
A week later, I found her lace thongs hanging on our back deck.
A month after that, my husband started sleeping in his study every night.
I lay in bed alone, staring at the ceiling until dawn.
That's when I decided to have an abortion.
After getting dressed, I headed downstairs.
At the dining table, Maria was sitting in my usual spot, laughing and chatting with Ryan. Under the table, I could see their feet casually touching.
The air was thick with unspoken sexual tension.
The scene in front of me felt like a knife to the chest, proving what I'd suspected all along.
Maybe it was guilt, but they both noticed me standing there pretty quickly.
He tried to play it cool while putting distance between them, but his movements were totally panicked.
Both their faces showed pure shock.
Ever since I'd gotten pregnant, I usually didn't get up until after nine—they'd never run into me in the morning.
Maria stood up and brought over a plate from the kitchen.
"Mrs. Thompson, since you haven't been feeling great, I whipped up something simple—just some toast and scrambled eggs."
"Bland stuff's better for you right now anyway, especially with the baby. You should eat up while it's still warm."
I let out a cold laugh, looking at the spread in front of them.
"Pan-seared foie gras, caviar toast, eggs Benedict..."
"So this is what you two have been eating behind my back every morning."
"Maria, this one meal probably costs more than your daily salary, right?"
Maria's face went pale, her lips trembling as tears quickly filled her eyes.
A woman pushing fifty, yet when she played the victim, she somehow managed to look almost... alluring.
Ryan elegantly wiped his mouth and frowned at me.
"Elena, what the hell's gotten into you this morning? She's had kids before—she knows better than anyone what pregnant women should eat. Who are you putting on this passive-aggressive show for?"
Maria tugged gently at his sleeve, whispering, "Don't be angry."
That's when I really noticed what she was wearing—an elegant yet sexy dress with a plunging neckline that showed off her cleavage.
Anyone who didn't know better might think she was the lady of the house.
And the well-dressed man standing beside her? He is my husband.
Looking at this perfectly composed man in front of me, all the sleepless nights and emotions I'd been bottling up suddenly crashed over me, making my eyes burn with tears.
We'd been through college together, career struggles, long-distance, even our families trying to break us up.
We'd overcome every obstacle, passed every test.
I thought we'd spend our lives cherishing each other, walking through life hand in hand.
But reality had just slapped me hard across the face.
Still, holding onto hope, I asked him in a hoarse voice:" Ryan, what if I don't want to eat this?"
His response was casual, and his eyes ice-cold.
"If you don't want to eat it, you can go make something yourself. She's an employee, not your personal slave. Drop the spoiled princess act."
He'd grown up poor and was an orphan—his pride ran deeper than most people's.
I used to feel so sad for his rough childhood that whenever he snapped at me, I'd find some way to smooth things over and let it slide. Then afterwards I'd pretend to be mad and act all cute and clingy in his arms.
I knew he was waiting for me to do that.
Instead, I just stared at him coldly, then grabbed the tablecloth and yanked it off the table.
CRASH—
The sound of shattering china was deafening, the mess on the floor looking like a disaster zone.
Shock and fury flashed across his face.
I put on a satisfied smile, hiding my nail that had just snapped from gripping too hard, and asked him calmly.
"Ryan, you've been sleeping with her, haven't you?"
On day one, I found her hand-washing his boxers.
Awkward.
"Maria, you don't need to handle my husband's underwear. I'll do it."
Her eyes instantly welled up.
"Of course... sorry..."
A week later, I found her lace thongs hanging on our back deck.
A month after that, my husband started sleeping in his study every night.
I lay in bed alone, staring at the ceiling until dawn.
That's when I decided to have an abortion.
After getting dressed, I headed downstairs.
At the dining table, Maria was sitting in my usual spot, laughing and chatting with Ryan. Under the table, I could see their feet casually touching.
The air was thick with unspoken sexual tension.
The scene in front of me felt like a knife to the chest, proving what I'd suspected all along.
Maybe it was guilt, but they both noticed me standing there pretty quickly.
He tried to play it cool while putting distance between them, but his movements were totally panicked.
Both their faces showed pure shock.
Ever since I'd gotten pregnant, I usually didn't get up until after nine—they'd never run into me in the morning.
Maria stood up and brought over a plate from the kitchen.
"Mrs. Thompson, since you haven't been feeling great, I whipped up something simple—just some toast and scrambled eggs."
"Bland stuff's better for you right now anyway, especially with the baby. You should eat up while it's still warm."
I let out a cold laugh, looking at the spread in front of them.
"Pan-seared foie gras, caviar toast, eggs Benedict..."
"So this is what you two have been eating behind my back every morning."
"Maria, this one meal probably costs more than your daily salary, right?"
Maria's face went pale, her lips trembling as tears quickly filled her eyes.
A woman pushing fifty, yet when she played the victim, she somehow managed to look almost... alluring.
Ryan elegantly wiped his mouth and frowned at me.
"Elena, what the hell's gotten into you this morning? She's had kids before—she knows better than anyone what pregnant women should eat. Who are you putting on this passive-aggressive show for?"
Maria tugged gently at his sleeve, whispering, "Don't be angry."
That's when I really noticed what she was wearing—an elegant yet sexy dress with a plunging neckline that showed off her cleavage.
Anyone who didn't know better might think she was the lady of the house.
And the well-dressed man standing beside her? He is my husband.
Looking at this perfectly composed man in front of me, all the sleepless nights and emotions I'd been bottling up suddenly crashed over me, making my eyes burn with tears.
We'd been through college together, career struggles, long-distance, even our families trying to break us up.
We'd overcome every obstacle, passed every test.
I thought we'd spend our lives cherishing each other, walking through life hand in hand.
But reality had just slapped me hard across the face.
Still, holding onto hope, I asked him in a hoarse voice:" Ryan, what if I don't want to eat this?"
His response was casual, and his eyes ice-cold.
"If you don't want to eat it, you can go make something yourself. She's an employee, not your personal slave. Drop the spoiled princess act."
He'd grown up poor and was an orphan—his pride ran deeper than most people's.
I used to feel so sad for his rough childhood that whenever he snapped at me, I'd find some way to smooth things over and let it slide. Then afterwards I'd pretend to be mad and act all cute and clingy in his arms.
I knew he was waiting for me to do that.
Instead, I just stared at him coldly, then grabbed the tablecloth and yanked it off the table.
CRASH—
The sound of shattering china was deafening, the mess on the floor looking like a disaster zone.
Shock and fury flashed across his face.
I put on a satisfied smile, hiding my nail that had just snapped from gripping too hard, and asked him calmly.
"Ryan, you've been sleeping with her, haven't you?"
End of He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? Chapter 86. Continue reading Chapter 87 or return to He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? book page.