Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness - Chapter 52: Chapter 52
You are reading Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness, Chapter 52: Chapter 52. Read more chapters of Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness.
I never imagined someone could be so shameless. The anger in my chest flared up, and I asked him through gritted teeth: "If I don't undress, you won't let me go, is that it?"
"Yes."
This man was still so domineering, always following through on his words.
I clutched my clothes tightly, both frightened and angry, trembling all over. My gaze was fixed firmly on him, really wanting to see from that annoyingly handsome face the reason why he suddenly went crazy wanting to see my body.
Only when I gradually calmed down did I suddenly remember the birthmark on my shoulder—crescent-shaped.
Elodie had the same birthmark. Arnold probably started suspecting after seeing his daughter's.
My hands tightened further, desperately covering the torn clothes. The man opposite had a cold expression that left me speechless.
I knew him too well. Once he set his mind on something, he would never give up until he achieved his goal.
In that case... then let him look.
Ten million—I wouldn't lose out.
I raised my head, my eyes meeting his unfathomable gaze directly, "Just a look, right? Fine!"
He just stared at me like that.
The second after I spoke, I decisively pulled down the already badly torn garment with a "swoosh," casually tossing it aside, raising both hands, and saying coldly: "Want to look? Look then. Look a few more times—don't waste ten million."
He narrowed his eyes, his gaze slowly sweeping over me.
Until his sight stopped on my left shoulder, his brow suddenly furrowed.
I knew what he was seeing.
There was a scar there—not deep but long, winding from shoulder to collarbone. To conceal it, I had specifically gotten a light pink tattoo that merged with the scar, invisible unless looked at carefully.
But the length of that scar was enough to show I had once suffered a serious injury.
I saw his expression change, a trace of undisguisable heartache flashing in his eyes. He reached out, seemingly wanting to touch me, but I quickly dodged.
I stared at him intently, as wary as if guarding against a pervert, my body still trembling slightly.
He frowned.
That scar obviously made him forget his original purpose. Several seconds later, he remembered he was actually looking for a birthmark. But now, he couldn't see anything.
I forced myself to meet his eyes directly, seeing complex and subtle emotions flash in his gaze.
Ha, didn't get the answer he wanted, so now he's unhappy?
"How did you get this scar?" Arnold suddenly asked me in a low voice.
I thought he would directly ask about the birthmark, but unexpectedly he mentioned this.
"Is this important to you?"
"Important." He looked up, his gaze falling on my face, not my body.
I knew that during those three years, I didn't have this scar. This injury was sustained when I was in England.
Seeing Arnold's furrowed brow, I couldn't help but sneer inwardly.
Of course he wouldn't know that this injury was left when I was targeted by criminals during my third year in England with three children, during a home invasion robbery.
To protect the children, I fought desperately with the criminal and was slashed on the shoulder by that person.
If Dominic hadn't arrived in time, I might have died long ago.
I still can't forget that day—Dominic covered in blood, calmly wiping the blood from his hands, like a ghost king crawling out of hell.
"It has nothing to do with you." I said quietly, turning my head away from him.
He clenched his back teeth, his eyes frighteningly cold.
He seemed unable to understand why, when I could have stayed by his side and avoided all this suffering, I never cherished any of it and repeatedly tried to leave him.
"Are you done looking?" I bent down to pick up the clothes from the floor, saying coldly, "I'm leaving when you're done."
"Wait." He called out in a deep voice.
"What else do you want?"
Arnold turned and walked into the dressing room, took out one of his shirts, and casually threw it to me: "Going out like that—who are you trying to show yourself to? Put this on."
After speaking, he left the room without looking back, closing the door behind him.
Outside the door, he leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette.
I put on the clothes and walked out, approaching him and saying coldly: "You've seen what you wanted. Remember, you said ten million yourself."
He smoked without speaking.
I had no intention of staying longer, "I'll send the divorce papers tomorrow. Remember to sign them."
After speaking, I turned to leave.
His gaze fell on my back, as deep as stagnant water.
Just as I walked out the door, a cold female voice came: "Paisley!"
"Yes."
This man was still so domineering, always following through on his words.
I clutched my clothes tightly, both frightened and angry, trembling all over. My gaze was fixed firmly on him, really wanting to see from that annoyingly handsome face the reason why he suddenly went crazy wanting to see my body.
Only when I gradually calmed down did I suddenly remember the birthmark on my shoulder—crescent-shaped.
Elodie had the same birthmark. Arnold probably started suspecting after seeing his daughter's.
My hands tightened further, desperately covering the torn clothes. The man opposite had a cold expression that left me speechless.
I knew him too well. Once he set his mind on something, he would never give up until he achieved his goal.
In that case... then let him look.
Ten million—I wouldn't lose out.
I raised my head, my eyes meeting his unfathomable gaze directly, "Just a look, right? Fine!"
He just stared at me like that.
The second after I spoke, I decisively pulled down the already badly torn garment with a "swoosh," casually tossing it aside, raising both hands, and saying coldly: "Want to look? Look then. Look a few more times—don't waste ten million."
He narrowed his eyes, his gaze slowly sweeping over me.
Until his sight stopped on my left shoulder, his brow suddenly furrowed.
I knew what he was seeing.
There was a scar there—not deep but long, winding from shoulder to collarbone. To conceal it, I had specifically gotten a light pink tattoo that merged with the scar, invisible unless looked at carefully.
But the length of that scar was enough to show I had once suffered a serious injury.
I saw his expression change, a trace of undisguisable heartache flashing in his eyes. He reached out, seemingly wanting to touch me, but I quickly dodged.
I stared at him intently, as wary as if guarding against a pervert, my body still trembling slightly.
He frowned.
That scar obviously made him forget his original purpose. Several seconds later, he remembered he was actually looking for a birthmark. But now, he couldn't see anything.
I forced myself to meet his eyes directly, seeing complex and subtle emotions flash in his gaze.
Ha, didn't get the answer he wanted, so now he's unhappy?
"How did you get this scar?" Arnold suddenly asked me in a low voice.
I thought he would directly ask about the birthmark, but unexpectedly he mentioned this.
"Is this important to you?"
"Important." He looked up, his gaze falling on my face, not my body.
I knew that during those three years, I didn't have this scar. This injury was sustained when I was in England.
Seeing Arnold's furrowed brow, I couldn't help but sneer inwardly.
Of course he wouldn't know that this injury was left when I was targeted by criminals during my third year in England with three children, during a home invasion robbery.
To protect the children, I fought desperately with the criminal and was slashed on the shoulder by that person.
If Dominic hadn't arrived in time, I might have died long ago.
I still can't forget that day—Dominic covered in blood, calmly wiping the blood from his hands, like a ghost king crawling out of hell.
"It has nothing to do with you." I said quietly, turning my head away from him.
He clenched his back teeth, his eyes frighteningly cold.
He seemed unable to understand why, when I could have stayed by his side and avoided all this suffering, I never cherished any of it and repeatedly tried to leave him.
"Are you done looking?" I bent down to pick up the clothes from the floor, saying coldly, "I'm leaving when you're done."
"Wait." He called out in a deep voice.
"What else do you want?"
Arnold turned and walked into the dressing room, took out one of his shirts, and casually threw it to me: "Going out like that—who are you trying to show yourself to? Put this on."
After speaking, he left the room without looking back, closing the door behind him.
Outside the door, he leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette.
I put on the clothes and walked out, approaching him and saying coldly: "You've seen what you wanted. Remember, you said ten million yourself."
He smoked without speaking.
I had no intention of staying longer, "I'll send the divorce papers tomorrow. Remember to sign them."
After speaking, I turned to leave.
His gaze fell on my back, as deep as stagnant water.
Just as I walked out the door, a cold female voice came: "Paisley!"
End of Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness Chapter 52. Continue reading Chapter 53 or return to Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness book page.