A family like that felt like a bottomless pit she’d never escape.
Yvonne didn’t want Marico to get dragged any deeper, afraid he’d end up suffering for her sake.
Marico took a slow, steady breath, his sharp features thrown into even starker relief by the dim elevator light. “If I cared about money or status, I wouldn’t have married you.”
“Hm?” Yvonne sniffed, wiping her tears before tipping her face up to look at him.
Wasn’t their marriage a spur-of-the-moment thing? Had he actually investigated her background?
“No one’s family is better than mine. Protecting my wife—that’s my responsibility as a man.”
His expression was icy, brow furrowed, his voice cold and unreadable. But beneath it, Yvonne could hear the weight of responsibility.
She knew all this, somewhere deep down.
She was truly grateful he’d come tonight. If he hadn’t, she’d have been utterly humiliated.
“Thank you, Mr. Hamilton.”
“I thought getting married would fix everything,” she admitted quietly, “but I never imagined these problems would still follow me—and now you’re caught up in it, too.”
She’d hoped marriage would be her escape from her family’s clutches, but now Marico was entangled in the mess alongside her.
Her words were heavy with apology.
“If you want to—” Yvonne started, voice soft.
But Marico cut her off before she could even finish the word “divorce.”
“Let’s not talk about that. Let’s just go home.”
The elevator doors slid open and Marico let go of her hand.
Yvonne’s anxiety didn’t fade—if anything, she felt even more drained. The prospect of returning home filled her with dread.
Marico was a reserved man. He’d just been insulted upstairs by her relatives, accused of being a freeloader. Would he really tolerate this?
“Did you drive yourself here?” Yvonne asked in a shaky voice.
“Yeah.” Marico nodded curtly.
“They’re probably watching us from upstairs,” Yvonne said, her voice small. “If you drive your car, they’ll know something’s up. Why not just ride with me?”

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