My Landlord's Midnight Lips - Chapter 9: Chapter 9

He even upgraded us to a south-facing apartment with better sunlight.
All because my drunk husband decided to whine about me to the landlord.
Vincent Lowell, ever the saint, swooped in with a solution.
From that moment on, Daniel Evans worshipped the ground Vincent walked on.
To show his appreciation, Daniel demanded I cook Vincent a fancy dinner on his day off.
Like hell I would.
His temper exploded, and soon we were screaming at each other again.
To him, I was just some nagging shrew now.
Unreasonable. Clueless. Disrespectful.
Our shouting match drew Vincent upstairs, where he immediately played mediator, scolding Daniel.
"Why give Sophia trouble? You could've just come down for drinks. Since when do we stand on ceremony?"
Daniel only grew more convinced of my selfishness.
He shot me a disgusted look. "See how generous Vincent is? And you? Petty as hell."
"Hey, that's no way to talk to your wife. Apologize," Vincent chided.
Watching his act, I seethed.
This wasn't kindness—it was sabotage.
I snapped, jabbing a finger at him. "Cut the act, Vincent. This is all your doing. Don't play dumb."
Vincent froze, feigning shock.
Daniel backhanded me. "Know your place, Sophia. Don't push it."
I clutched my stinging cheek, glaring at Vincent. "Happy now?"
"You've lost your damn mind," Daniel snarled, raising his hand again.
Vincent quickly pulled him away, muttering, "This is all my fault. No need for such drama."
Daniel didn't come home that night.