Chapter 76
Calista didn’t respond to Lucien. Instead, she turned and walked to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of ice water to soothe the burn in her throat.
Her throat hurt when she swallowed, and her voice was raw and hoarse from the night before.
After drinking the water, she stepped back into the living room. There was no warmth in her voice when she spoke to him. “I’m not feeling well today, so I won’t be cooking. You’ll have to take care
of yourself. Sorry.”
She had already paid him back last night, per the condition he gave for helping suppress the
news. That made them even.
Lucien helped her clean up the mess, and she repaid him with her body. It was a fair trade.
Calista had nothing left to say.
The injuries from the crash were far from healed. Her whole body still ached. It was the kind of deep ache that came from bones being attered and forced back together.
Every step she took came with a thread of pain, sharp and constantly crawling beneath her skin.
Lucien’s brow furrowed.
That tight and controlled expression was always the first sign of his temper rising. But Calista didn’t have the energy to soothe his temper. She wasn’t going to sit with him on the couch, smile, and pretend everything was fine like before.
She apologized again, her voice weak and strained. “I’m sorry. I’m really not feeling well.”
Lucien snapped back almost immediately, his tone commanding. “From now on, you’re not leaving
this house unless I say otherwise.”
She stared at him. “Are you trying to lock me up? Lucien, you’re getting more controlling by the
day. I have things to do outside, too.”
“What things?” His eyes narrowed, his presence suddenly suffocating.
“I have a job,” she shot back.
Lucien folded his newspaper and rose from the couch. “Your so–called job? Running errands and serving drinks? My family can afford to keep you. You don’t need to lower yourself like that.”
She backed away slightly as he approached, the sheer tension in the air making it hard to breathe. Fear crept into her chest, and she looked away.
“I have hands and feet. I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”
Lucien’s anger only deepened.
Calista, whom he had kept by his side for years, now spoke to him like he was a stranger.
“Fine. You want a job? Then work at Fenwick Group. Bring your resume and report to the office
Chant 76
tomorrow morning. If you’re so determined to prove yourself, I’ll give you the chance. Show me
what you’re capable of.”
He paused near the door. “If you can’t handle it, stop pretending. Stay home and do the job you already have as Mrs. Fenwick.”
Lucien turned and walked off without waiting for a response.
Calista stood frozen, her jaw aching where he had grabbed it the night before.
She wanted to refuse him, to say no, to push back. But no words came out.
He just wanted to humiliate her, like Ophelia had.
Calista glanced at the door, nodded slightly, and turned to leave.
Inside, Alexander was knee–deep in a disaster–not because of a medical emergency, but because of the article he had just published.
And now Hattie had arrived in person, expecting an explanation.
She had canceled her weekly game of bridge with her friends just to confront him in person and
demand answers about her future daughter–in–law.
“Say something,” she barked with her arms crossed, her presence heavy with judgment.
Her dedication was admirable. But unfortunately, it was Alexander, still painfully single, who had to suffer because of it.
Alexander, usually smooth–talking and effortlessly charming, sat stiff and silent. Faced with his mother’s wrath, he didn’t dare say a word.
“Mom, I’ve already told you. That article was just me doing someone a favor. I’m just trying to
distract the press, that’s all.
“That ‘girlfriend‘ I mentioned? Made up. I just needed to distract the media, nothing more.
Faced with Hattie’s sharp glare, Alexander didn’t dare come up with another excuse.
But no matter what he said, Hattie wasn’t buying a single word.
“Alexander, it’s not that I’m overconfident as your mother. But let’s be real here, alright? A man
like you? You’re a top–tier catch in any dating market.
“You honestly expect me to believe you made up a girlfriend for PR? Please. Don’t try that media crisis nonsense on me. Just tell me–where’s my daughter–in–law hiding?”
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