Revenge: Once His Wife, Now His Regret - Chapter 33: Chapter 33
You are reading Revenge: Once His Wife, Now His Regret, Chapter 33: Chapter 33. Read more chapters of Revenge: Once His Wife, Now His Regret.
"Well, of course. You only ever call Lena. Why would you even remember me?" Sally's voice was cold, distant. "You only come to me when you need something—just like before. Nothing's changed."
As she started to sit up, Brad suddenly reached out and clamped a firm hand down on her shoulder, forcing her back into the bed.
"Sally," he growled, "you were the one with a twisted mind. You framed Lena and landed yourself in prison. If you'd had even a shred of decency, maybe we wouldn't have ended up like this."
"Oh? So now you're trying to justify your behavior by blaming me?" Sally shot back with a sneer. "You think it's my fault you couldn't keep your hands to yourself?"
"My behavior? What are you accusing me of? When did I ever cross the line?" His hand tightened threateningly on her shoulder, his whole body radiating a chilling hostility.
"Oh please," Sally scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Isn't it common knowledge by now? Or are you going to tell me Miss Yasmin didn't satisfy you, so you came crawling back to your ex-wife?"
"I didn't come here to do anything to you," Brad sneered.
"Then why are you holding me down like this?" Sally stared up at him, lips curled into a mocking smirk.
But then, Brad suddenly grabbed her jaw, his thumb pressing against her cheek as he leaned in, kneeling on the bed beside her. "You seem to forget you're still my wife—at least in name. Isn't it a wife's duty to satisfy her husband?"
Sally's eyes narrowed icily. "Let go."
"Why so defensive? Unless... there's someone else?" Brad didn't release her. Instead, his grip grew tighter.
Sally jerked her head to the side, breaking free of his hand, only for him to suddenly press down on her wrists and pin her beneath him. She struggled, but he was stronger, heavier. His knee wedged between her legs.
Panic surged through her chest. She raised her voice. "Brad, what do you think you're doing? Let me go right now!"
"What do you think?" Brad's voice was low, dangerous—a threat wrapped in calm.
Outside the door, just one wall away, Jaxon stood frozen. His hand hovered over the doorknob, tense.
He was about to open the door, but hesitated. He knew Brad and Sally hadn't divorced yet. So what right did he have to intervene?
And yet, a muffled shout came from inside. It was not Sally's voice, but Brad's.
"Why did you bite me?" Brad yelped in pain.
"Get out of this room, now," Sally snapped. "Or next time, it won't be just a bite."
Before the door opened, Jaxon turned sharply on his heel and slipped into his own bedroom without a sound.
From the crack of his barely open door, he saw Brad storm out, clutching his hand, face contorted in pain. He was still fully dressed, but his attention was fixed on the red, angry bite mark on the back of his hand.
From where Jaxon stood, the mark was clear as day. And for the first time in a long while, the corners of his lips curled upward.
Well now... this was getting interesting. He couldn't help but ponder.
Seeing everything settle, Jaxon shut the door quietly behind him and headed for the bathroom.
Outside, moonlight filtered through the trees, scattering fragmented shadows across the floor.
Inside, Sally sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the disheveled sheets, lost in thought.
If she hadn't bitten him... would he really have gone that far? She wondered. A disappointed, sardonic smile tugged at her lips.
She rose, walked to the bathroom, and stepped into the shower.
There were no spare clothes in the old house. She rarely stayed the night. After drying off, she slipped into the only thing available—a plain white bathrobe. Loose, simple, and barely secured.
By the time she finished, it was already past ten. Her throat was parched, her nerves still buzzing. She didn't want plain water—she needed something stronger.
She crept downstairs, mindful of the sleeping household. The whole place was quiet, not a soul in sight. She didn't turn on the lights, tiptoeing into the kitchen in near darkness.
She opened the fridge and spotted some beer—her favorite kind from years ago.
A quiet little smile formed on her lips. She grabbed two bottles, shut one side of the fridge, and was about to close the other—when a pair of dark, intense eyes caught hers through the gap in the door.
Her heart skipped. She gasped and instinctively stepped back—too fast. The floor was slick. Her foot slipped, and the beers tumbled from her hands.
But then, strong arms wrapped around her waist, steadying her. Another hand caught one of the bottles midair.
Sally looked up, blinking. Who else could it be except Jaxon?
He stood there in a black robe, the soft fabric clinging to his lean frame. Gone was the cold detachment he usually wore—tonight, his gaze was gentler, quieter.
Sally didn't realized—the loosely tied robe had shifted in her stumble, the front part gaping open slightly. From Jaxon's angle, he had a direct view of the curve of her chest, the shadowed valley below.
"Um, Mr. Zale..." She followed his gaze and didn't flinch. Instead, she tilted her head and smiled faintly.
Jaxon's brows twitched. For a split second, his thoughts scattered. Then he looked away, quickly letting go of her.
"You shouldn't sneak around in the dark. I thought we had an intruder," he complained.
"I didn't want to wake anyone up," Sally replied. She closed the fridge and casually popped open one of the bottles.
"Is that so?" Jaxon handed her the second beer. "Here."
Sally glanced at the beer bottle, then at him. Instead of taking it, she lifted her own and lightly tapped it against his.
"Clink." A soft, satisfying chime echoed in the quiet kitchen.
She took a sip, then smiled again. "Thanks for catching me earlier."
They held each other's gaze for a beat longer than necessary. Then Sally turned and walked away without another word, leaving only the sound of her soft footsteps behind.
She didn't see the small, amused smile that pulled at Jaxon's lips as he watched her go.
Alcohol never sat well with her. One bottle and she'd sleep like a rock.
She carried a chair out to the balcony and sat down, staring at the night sky, the bottle slowly draining in her hand. Finishing the beer, her eyes began to blur, lids heavy.
Just as sleep was about to claim her, she glanced across the yard—and spotted a tall figure leaning against the neighboring balcony railing.
"You drunk already?" Jaxon's voice floated through the dark.
As she started to sit up, Brad suddenly reached out and clamped a firm hand down on her shoulder, forcing her back into the bed.
"Sally," he growled, "you were the one with a twisted mind. You framed Lena and landed yourself in prison. If you'd had even a shred of decency, maybe we wouldn't have ended up like this."
"Oh? So now you're trying to justify your behavior by blaming me?" Sally shot back with a sneer. "You think it's my fault you couldn't keep your hands to yourself?"
"My behavior? What are you accusing me of? When did I ever cross the line?" His hand tightened threateningly on her shoulder, his whole body radiating a chilling hostility.
"Oh please," Sally scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Isn't it common knowledge by now? Or are you going to tell me Miss Yasmin didn't satisfy you, so you came crawling back to your ex-wife?"
"I didn't come here to do anything to you," Brad sneered.
"Then why are you holding me down like this?" Sally stared up at him, lips curled into a mocking smirk.
But then, Brad suddenly grabbed her jaw, his thumb pressing against her cheek as he leaned in, kneeling on the bed beside her. "You seem to forget you're still my wife—at least in name. Isn't it a wife's duty to satisfy her husband?"
Sally's eyes narrowed icily. "Let go."
"Why so defensive? Unless... there's someone else?" Brad didn't release her. Instead, his grip grew tighter.
Sally jerked her head to the side, breaking free of his hand, only for him to suddenly press down on her wrists and pin her beneath him. She struggled, but he was stronger, heavier. His knee wedged between her legs.
Panic surged through her chest. She raised her voice. "Brad, what do you think you're doing? Let me go right now!"
"What do you think?" Brad's voice was low, dangerous—a threat wrapped in calm.
Outside the door, just one wall away, Jaxon stood frozen. His hand hovered over the doorknob, tense.
He was about to open the door, but hesitated. He knew Brad and Sally hadn't divorced yet. So what right did he have to intervene?
And yet, a muffled shout came from inside. It was not Sally's voice, but Brad's.
"Why did you bite me?" Brad yelped in pain.
"Get out of this room, now," Sally snapped. "Or next time, it won't be just a bite."
Before the door opened, Jaxon turned sharply on his heel and slipped into his own bedroom without a sound.
From the crack of his barely open door, he saw Brad storm out, clutching his hand, face contorted in pain. He was still fully dressed, but his attention was fixed on the red, angry bite mark on the back of his hand.
From where Jaxon stood, the mark was clear as day. And for the first time in a long while, the corners of his lips curled upward.
Well now... this was getting interesting. He couldn't help but ponder.
Seeing everything settle, Jaxon shut the door quietly behind him and headed for the bathroom.
Outside, moonlight filtered through the trees, scattering fragmented shadows across the floor.
Inside, Sally sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the disheveled sheets, lost in thought.
If she hadn't bitten him... would he really have gone that far? She wondered. A disappointed, sardonic smile tugged at her lips.
She rose, walked to the bathroom, and stepped into the shower.
There were no spare clothes in the old house. She rarely stayed the night. After drying off, she slipped into the only thing available—a plain white bathrobe. Loose, simple, and barely secured.
By the time she finished, it was already past ten. Her throat was parched, her nerves still buzzing. She didn't want plain water—she needed something stronger.
She crept downstairs, mindful of the sleeping household. The whole place was quiet, not a soul in sight. She didn't turn on the lights, tiptoeing into the kitchen in near darkness.
She opened the fridge and spotted some beer—her favorite kind from years ago.
A quiet little smile formed on her lips. She grabbed two bottles, shut one side of the fridge, and was about to close the other—when a pair of dark, intense eyes caught hers through the gap in the door.
Her heart skipped. She gasped and instinctively stepped back—too fast. The floor was slick. Her foot slipped, and the beers tumbled from her hands.
But then, strong arms wrapped around her waist, steadying her. Another hand caught one of the bottles midair.
Sally looked up, blinking. Who else could it be except Jaxon?
He stood there in a black robe, the soft fabric clinging to his lean frame. Gone was the cold detachment he usually wore—tonight, his gaze was gentler, quieter.
Sally didn't realized—the loosely tied robe had shifted in her stumble, the front part gaping open slightly. From Jaxon's angle, he had a direct view of the curve of her chest, the shadowed valley below.
"Um, Mr. Zale..." She followed his gaze and didn't flinch. Instead, she tilted her head and smiled faintly.
Jaxon's brows twitched. For a split second, his thoughts scattered. Then he looked away, quickly letting go of her.
"You shouldn't sneak around in the dark. I thought we had an intruder," he complained.
"I didn't want to wake anyone up," Sally replied. She closed the fridge and casually popped open one of the bottles.
"Is that so?" Jaxon handed her the second beer. "Here."
Sally glanced at the beer bottle, then at him. Instead of taking it, she lifted her own and lightly tapped it against his.
"Clink." A soft, satisfying chime echoed in the quiet kitchen.
She took a sip, then smiled again. "Thanks for catching me earlier."
They held each other's gaze for a beat longer than necessary. Then Sally turned and walked away without another word, leaving only the sound of her soft footsteps behind.
She didn't see the small, amused smile that pulled at Jaxon's lips as he watched her go.
Alcohol never sat well with her. One bottle and she'd sleep like a rock.
She carried a chair out to the balcony and sat down, staring at the night sky, the bottle slowly draining in her hand. Finishing the beer, her eyes began to blur, lids heavy.
Just as sleep was about to claim her, she glanced across the yard—and spotted a tall figure leaning against the neighboring balcony railing.
"You drunk already?" Jaxon's voice floated through the dark.
End of Revenge: Once His Wife, Now His Regret Chapter 33. Continue reading Chapter 34 or return to Revenge: Once His Wife, Now His Regret book page.