The Sleeper's Wrath and His Wife's Strike novel Chapter 113

Cheryl let out a long sigh, composing herself before she spoke. “Well then, thank you. The total comes to $9,999.99—just transfer it to me.”

Without hesitation, Yves sent her $20,000.

When Cheryl saw the extra ten grand, her smile bloomed like a flower. “Thank you, boss. Wishing you a year full of blessings—and maybe a little bundle of joy.”

Yves' lips curled in satisfaction. He nodded. “If you know how to talk, then keep it coming.”

Cheryl immediately launched into a string of lavish compliments, her words sugary sweet.

“Alright, let’s head to Pine Residences,” Yves said.

“Huh? Aren’t we buying a gift first?”

“My Lindsay is one of a kind. Her gift should be just as unique.”

Cheryl caught on instantly. “Got it. You want something custom-made.”

“Come on, I’ll drop you at Pine Residences now.”

…

Pine Residences.

Lindsay stared at the anonymous text on her phone, her expression growing cold. The photos attached were of Yves and Cheryl.

They were dining together, Cheryl’s hand resting on Yves'. Judging by the restaurant’s background, it was somewhere on the south side of town.

But Lindsay hadn’t seen them at all tonight.

There were more photos—this time at TF Jewelers, picking out jewelry. The piece they bought was “The Glimpse,” one of the store’s most popular designs.

The scenes were intimate, almost tender—making Lindsay, the woman who’d signed the marriage certificate, feel painfully out of place.

Exhaling slowly to steady herself, Lindsay deleted the photos, then rose and slipped into the bathroom for a long, hot shower.

Some time passed…

Yves stared at the tightly shut door, his brow furrowed in thought. After a moment, he said to Cheryl, “Let’s go back. We’re not getting in tonight.”

“But we’re already here. She must be inside. If there’s a misunderstanding, wouldn’t it be better to clear it up face to face?” Cheryl suggested.

If misunderstandings dragged on, walls would form between them, and feelings would fade.

Yves shot her a cold look. “So what do you want—kick down the door? Call a locksmith?”

“No, I’m not that aggressive,” Cheryl muttered, pouting. “I just think something must’ve happened in the last hour to upset Lindsay. If there’s a problem, we should fix it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to fix it. She just won’t give me the chance.” Yves let out a bitter laugh. “I haven’t even gotten mad about her having dinner with another man, and somehow I’m the one in trouble.”

He rubbed his brow and exhaled. “Take me back to Quigley Manor.”

“I’ll try calling her once more—”

“Don’t bother. She’s not going to pick up.” Yves' face was stone-cold as he maneuvered his wheelchair toward the elevator.