Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness - Chapter 16: Chapter 16
You are reading Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness, Chapter 16: Chapter 16. Read more chapters of Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness.
"Click."
The lights suddenly came on.
The harsh light made me instinctively close my eyes. When I opened them again, I saw him—Arnold, sitting on the living room sofa, long legs crossed, a cigarette between his fingers, expression cold and stern, like a judge on his throne.
His eyes were dark, smoke slowly exhaling from his thin lips, those black eyes staring at me intently, as if trying to see through me, tear me apart.
My spine stiffened instantly.
As expected.
He had still found me.
Not only had he discovered who I was, but he had come directly to my home.
I forced down the panic in my heart, trying to maintain composure, not letting him see any weakness on my face. I didn't know if he had gone upstairs—if he had seen traces upstairs, the children could never be hidden again.
"Five years apart—should I call you Paisley now, or Lacey?" His tone was sarcastic, voice kept low but carrying undeniable authority.
I bit my lip tightly, trying to make my voice sound calm: "Mr. Cavendish, do you know that breaking and entering is illegal?"
He disdainfully raised an eyebrow, completely unconcerned.
He stood up, his tall frame imposing and oppressive. With each step he took toward me, I unconsciously stepped back, until my back was against the wall.
His approaching presence was too strong—even the air became thin.
I turned to run, but just as I took a step, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me back with force.
He pinned me against the wall, his arms braced on either side of me, trapping me firmly between him and the wall.
"What do you want?" I lifted my head, glaring at him, anger burning in my eyes.
He looked back at me with that gaze—too familiar, yet strangely frightening.
This face was more profound and handsome than five years ago. And me? I was no longer that bare-faced young girl. I could do light makeup, could protect myself, no longer had eyes only for him.
But I saw a flash of pain in his eyes.
He didn't like how I looked now—he preferred that gentle person who only had eyes for him.
But that person was dead.
"Why run?" His voice was low and hoarse. "You left without a word five years ago—not even an explanation now?"
I laughed coldly, my gaze sharp: "Explain? Why should I explain? You love Victoria, I took the initiative to divorce, accommodating you both. What, wasn't I gracious enough? Do you need to thank me again?"
His expression immediately darkened.
"Paisley, which ear of yours heard me say I love Victoria?"
I laughed angrily, my voice rising several notches: "You didn't say it? Then you booking venues for her, setting off fireworks for her, protecting and spoiling her, being seen everywhere together with her—was I blind? Or did the whole world have a collective hallucination?"
Each word I spoke was like a blade.
"If you don't love her, why did you marry her? She's now the legitimate Mrs. Cavendish. You even gave her my family heirloom ring. What are you doing at my place? Want me to wish you both a hundred years of happiness?"
I shook off his hand forcefully, a cold gleam flashing in my eyes.
He said nothing, but his expression was as cold as the oppressive calm before a storm. His features were sharp, faintly showing anger.
I continued pressing him: "We're already divorced, Arnold. Don't forget whose husband you are. If Victoria knew you were at your ex-wife's house pulling and tugging, would she go crazy?"
He looked at me as if looking at a stranger.
He had seen me cry, seen me laugh, but had never seen me so calm yet aggressive.
He couldn't speak.
He and Victoria had indeed been separated for a period. After marrying me, he had also fulfilled his duties and never betrayed the marriage. But I knew nothing of his "boundaries" because he had never said anything, never explained.
All I saw was him willingly revolving around Victoria, while I became that dispensable wife.
Most ridiculous of all, I had almost personally ended our child just to avoid becoming his "burden."
Thinking of this, my heart felt stabbed with needles, sour and painful.
He watched my furious expression, his gaze also darkening: "Divorce this, divorce that—Paisley, haven't you caused enough trouble? When you aborted the child back then, who gave you that right?"
The lights suddenly came on.
The harsh light made me instinctively close my eyes. When I opened them again, I saw him—Arnold, sitting on the living room sofa, long legs crossed, a cigarette between his fingers, expression cold and stern, like a judge on his throne.
His eyes were dark, smoke slowly exhaling from his thin lips, those black eyes staring at me intently, as if trying to see through me, tear me apart.
My spine stiffened instantly.
As expected.
He had still found me.
Not only had he discovered who I was, but he had come directly to my home.
I forced down the panic in my heart, trying to maintain composure, not letting him see any weakness on my face. I didn't know if he had gone upstairs—if he had seen traces upstairs, the children could never be hidden again.
"Five years apart—should I call you Paisley now, or Lacey?" His tone was sarcastic, voice kept low but carrying undeniable authority.
I bit my lip tightly, trying to make my voice sound calm: "Mr. Cavendish, do you know that breaking and entering is illegal?"
He disdainfully raised an eyebrow, completely unconcerned.
He stood up, his tall frame imposing and oppressive. With each step he took toward me, I unconsciously stepped back, until my back was against the wall.
His approaching presence was too strong—even the air became thin.
I turned to run, but just as I took a step, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me back with force.
He pinned me against the wall, his arms braced on either side of me, trapping me firmly between him and the wall.
"What do you want?" I lifted my head, glaring at him, anger burning in my eyes.
He looked back at me with that gaze—too familiar, yet strangely frightening.
This face was more profound and handsome than five years ago. And me? I was no longer that bare-faced young girl. I could do light makeup, could protect myself, no longer had eyes only for him.
But I saw a flash of pain in his eyes.
He didn't like how I looked now—he preferred that gentle person who only had eyes for him.
But that person was dead.
"Why run?" His voice was low and hoarse. "You left without a word five years ago—not even an explanation now?"
I laughed coldly, my gaze sharp: "Explain? Why should I explain? You love Victoria, I took the initiative to divorce, accommodating you both. What, wasn't I gracious enough? Do you need to thank me again?"
His expression immediately darkened.
"Paisley, which ear of yours heard me say I love Victoria?"
I laughed angrily, my voice rising several notches: "You didn't say it? Then you booking venues for her, setting off fireworks for her, protecting and spoiling her, being seen everywhere together with her—was I blind? Or did the whole world have a collective hallucination?"
Each word I spoke was like a blade.
"If you don't love her, why did you marry her? She's now the legitimate Mrs. Cavendish. You even gave her my family heirloom ring. What are you doing at my place? Want me to wish you both a hundred years of happiness?"
I shook off his hand forcefully, a cold gleam flashing in my eyes.
He said nothing, but his expression was as cold as the oppressive calm before a storm. His features were sharp, faintly showing anger.
I continued pressing him: "We're already divorced, Arnold. Don't forget whose husband you are. If Victoria knew you were at your ex-wife's house pulling and tugging, would she go crazy?"
He looked at me as if looking at a stranger.
He had seen me cry, seen me laugh, but had never seen me so calm yet aggressive.
He couldn't speak.
He and Victoria had indeed been separated for a period. After marrying me, he had also fulfilled his duties and never betrayed the marriage. But I knew nothing of his "boundaries" because he had never said anything, never explained.
All I saw was him willingly revolving around Victoria, while I became that dispensable wife.
Most ridiculous of all, I had almost personally ended our child just to avoid becoming his "burden."
Thinking of this, my heart felt stabbed with needles, sour and painful.
He watched my furious expression, his gaze also darkening: "Divorce this, divorce that—Paisley, haven't you caused enough trouble? When you aborted the child back then, who gave you that right?"
End of Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness Chapter 16. Continue reading Chapter 17 or return to Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness book page.