Filed to story: When His Wife Can’t Forgive
Talia fell silent. After a pause, she laughed bitterly. “Pierre, it’s not just about the baby. I’m nearing thirty. My parents are getting older. I don’t want to add to their worries.”
Pierre felt she was holding back more. It seemed she was frightened of something she couldn’t express. Moved by their past connection, he wanted to protect her but respected her autonomy. “If he harms you again, tell me immediately.”
Talia sobbed quietly. “Pierre, please stay out of this. I regret reaching out, but I was terrified and alone.” After the call ended, Pierre attempted to resume his daily tasks as if nothing had transpired.
Gemma, sensing his distress, asked, “Is your friend in serious trouble?”
“It’s not severe,” Pierre replied, embracing Gemma and closing his eyes.
Gemma toyed with the buttons on his pajamas. “Then why do you seem so troubled? Who is this friend?”
Pierre’s expression tightened. Revealing the truth would upset Gemma and might lead her to demand he not get involved. He opted for a vague response. “Just an old classmate I lost touch with years ago.”
Gemma pulled back and picked up a card from the bedside table. “I’m not sure how else to help, but money can fix a lot of issues. There’s thirty million on this card. Use it if it’s necessary.”
Pierre knew Gemma wanted to help, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept the money. He gently placed the card back, offering an excuse to decline. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
Inside the table drawer sat a wooden amulet. Pierre glanced at it casually and asked, “What’s this?”
Gemma’s eyes flickered toward it. “It was a gift from Sheila,” she explained softly. “I’ve always been sick and frail, and she felt bad for me and got it from a pastor.” As Gemma spoke, her voice carried a genuine sadness. “I don’t know what happened to her family. After she quit her job, I lost all contact with her. I wanted to visit, but I couldn’t even find her address.”
Pierre understood the unspoken truth-both Sheila and her grandson were dead. Corey must have kept this news from Gemma to spare her feelings.
Pierre scoffed inwardly. A charm blessed by a pastor? It couldn’t even protect its owner-how could it protect Gemma? To him, it was nothing but a scam, a ploy to make money.
That night, Talia stepped out of the shower and returned to the bedroom. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw her fianc?, Nichol Moore, sitting on the bed, scrolling through her phone. Startled, she instinctively asked, “When did you get back?”
Nichol ignored her question, his fingers moving quickly as he checked through all her apps.
Talia clutched the hem of her clothes, her eyes fixated on his every move. Even though she had deleted the call history with Pierre, unease clawed at her chest, and a cold sweat broke across her skin. Nichol was a cunning man with a violent streak. If he noticed anything out of place, who knew how he would react?
Forcing herself to appear calm, Talia turned away to dry her hair.
Minutes passed. After what felt like an eternity, Nichol put Talia’s phone down and stared at her back. The sound of it landing on the bed was soft, yet it made Talia flinch. She had no idea what had triggered this behavior-or why he was acting so strange again.
Halfway through drying her hair, Nichol suddenly appeared behind her. Without a word, he grabbed the hairdryer from her hands and shoved her toward the vanity.
Talia let out a soft cry. The sharp scent of smoke, alcohol, and women’s perfume clung to Nichol, swirling into a nauseating cloud that made her stomach twist.
Talia felt sick, so much so that she nearly threw up her dinner. She had no desire to have sex with him. But today, Nichol was like a man possessed, drunk on rage and insistent on getting what he wanted.
Talia pushed him away, desperation in her voice. “I’m pregnant, Nichol! What are you doing?”
“It’s already been three months. Can’t I touch you yet?” Nichol shouted, his voice laced with fury. “Then find a few women to take care of my needs!”
Talia’s anger flared. “Go find them yourself!”
She tried to shove him aside and escape, but Nichol’s hand shot out, grabbing her by the hair. Before she could react, he slammed her head hard against the mirror. “Who do you think you are?” he hissed, venom in his voice. “If you don’t want to sleep with me, who do you want? Your first love?”
Talia gasped, the pain radiating through her skull as she struggled to breathe. But his words struck deeper than the blow, leaving her frozen. She stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked.
Nichol’s lips curled into a wicked grin, his expression almost devilish. “Did you think I wouldn’t know just because you deleted the records? I heard every word you said to that guy.”
A chill shot through Talia’s entire body, her heart sinking into her stomach. Her hands trembled involuntarily. He knew everything? How could he know? Was there a bug in her phone?
Terrified of Nichol’s drunken state, Talia couldn’t stop shaking. She pressed her trembling hands against his chest, desperately trying to push him away.
But Nichol, his body hardened by years of regular exercise, was frighteningly strong.
Nichol slapped her across the face, the force ringing in her ears as he gripped her neck and slammed her into the vanity. His voice was venomous, laced with the nastiest words. “Even pregnant, you can’t behave. Once you bring this baby into this world, I’ll kill you!”
Drunk and out of control, Nichol unleashed a brutal beating. By the time he came to his senses, Talia’s limp body had already collapsed into unconsciousness. Unbothered, Nichol shrugged it off. He tossed her into his car with no more care than a piece of luggage and drove to a nearby clinic to pick up some medication.
The doctor at the small, dimly lit clinic was an old friend of Nichol’s. The moment his eyes fell on Talia’s battered form, his expression darkened with disgust. He didn’t need to ask what had happened. “How could you hit her again? Such a beautiful woman! And you still laid your hands on her?”
Nichol lit a cigarette, his face cold and unmoved as smoke curled around him. “She deserves it. She’s ungrateful.”
The doctor let out a frustrated sigh as he examined her, shaking his head. “This is bad. I can’t treat her here. Her injuries are serious-there might be fractures. She needs a hospital.”
Nichol scowled, irritation flaring in his voice. “If I take her to the hospital, they’ll report it. Domestic violence… Even if I don’t go to jail, they’ll investigate me. Too much trouble.”
The doctor chuckled dryly. “Worried, huh? Let me give you some advice-you should calm down a bit. Even in marriage, domestic violence can escalate into a bigger issue. If she’s seriously injured, she could use it to blackmail you.”
Nichol sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “Blackmail me? Really? If we divorce, she’ll owe me everything I’ve given her. The house, the gifts-and let’s not forget the money I spent on her father’s kidney transplant. Can she afford to pay me back?”
The doctor nodded, a thin smile tugging at his lips. “You’re right. After all, they owe you a lot. When they take your money, they should expect to pay the price, sooner or later. So, what was it this time? What made you hit her?”
Nichol’s jaw tightened as the memory of that overheard conversation resurfaced, the words replaying in his mind like poison. Frustration burned through him. The guy’s name was Pierre, wasn’t it? He would make sure this Pierre guy regretted ever having contacted Talia.
Over the next few days, Pierre occasionally sent Talia messages to check in, asking how she was doing. Talia always replied that she was fine and, more than once, invited him to her wedding. Pierre politely declined each time.
Valentine’s Day arrived as planned.
Early that morning, Gemma was woken by the shrill ring of her phone.
“It’s me, Caden,” a familiar voice on the other end said. Gemma sat up instantly, her voice bright with excitement. “Caden!”
Caden continued, his tone warm but hurried, “I need a favor. Today’s a special day, and I’ve planned a surprise for Alicia. But the pianist I hired had a last-minute emergency and can’t make it. If you’re free, could you step in and fill in?”
Alicia often told Caden that Gemma was a remarkably talented woman. Her health had been devastated by illness, confining her to her home, where she immersed herself in mastering various arts, including music and painting. Her piano skills were especially extraordinary.
Gemma hesitated. “I really want to help you, but today is a holiday, and I might…”
Caden raised a brow, puzzled. “Are you dating someone?”
Just then, Pierre entered from outside.
Worried that Caden might spread rumors to Corey, Gemma quickly denied it. “No, no, I just recovered from my illness. I’m not dating anyone.”
Pierre paused briefly before continuing to help her change into her pajamas.
As Pierre worked, Gemma absentmindedly played with his hair and asked, “Couldn’t you find another pianist?”
“They’re all celebrating the holiday,” Caden replied calmly.
Gemma was momentarily taken aback. So others could enjoy the holiday, but she could not? Caden was as infuriating as ever.
Despite her dislike for Caden-mostly for his criticism of her brother-Gemma knew her social obligations couldn’t be ignored. Reluctantly, she agreed. “Alright then. When should I be there?”
“Before noon,” Caden replied.
Pierre then removed Gemma’s pajamas and dressed her in a new outfit for going out. Once finished, he gently held her on his lap.
Gemma frowned, puzzled, as she covered the phone and shot him a questioning look.
Pierre mouthed silently, “Zip it up.”
Gemma nodded and allowed him to hold her as she mentally calculated her remaining free time for the day. The next moment, Pierre’s hand slipped under her back, tracing the sensitive curve of her waist.
Gemma shivered, her thoughts scattering instantly. Meanwhile, Caden’s voice droned on over the call, giving her the address and time.
Gemma only half-listened, blinking at Pierre in confusion. Pierre’s dark gaze remained fixed on her, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity that sent her heart racing.
It was early morning, a time when the body was most sensitive, and Pierre’s sudden desire seemed inexplicable. In one fluid motion, her freshly donned dress slipped from her shoulders, the delicate chiffon pooling around her slim waist.
He lowered his head, surrendering to the moment, indulging in her completely.
Gemma gasped, her voice caught in her throat as she tried to push him away.
Caden sensed something was off and asked, “Are you alright, Miss Hampton? Are you feeling unwell?”
Gemma blushed a deep shade of crimson. It wasn’t discomfort she felt-on the contrary, it was far too much comfort. Afraid she might betray herself if she spoke, she hastily ended the call.
Pierre chose that moment to stop as well. He took a moment to admire the faint marks he’d left on her skin before helping her dress again.
Gemma’s chest rose and fell in soft, measured breaths, her eyes flickering with a blend of emotions-confusion, wonder, and something else she couldn’t quite name. “What are you doing?” she managed to ask, grabbing his hand. “Why are you dressing me again?”
Pierre’s gaze darkened slightly, a glint of possessiveness lingering there. “Weren’t you getting up? Or do you want to stay?”
Gemma’s cheeks burned hotter as she nodded.
Pierre’s soft chuckle rumbled in response-a quiet indulgence. But indulgence often came with a price, and the consequence of greed was not easily erased.
Feeling utterly drained and weak all over, Gemma changed into a new dress, one that modestly covered her collarbone.
After tidying her up, Pierre asked in a low, hoarse voice, “Did you like it?”
Gemma nodded honestly, though a hint of embarrassment colored her face. “I did. But how could you do that while I was on the phone? What if Caden heard us?”
Pierre paused, as if searching for an answer himself. He wasn’t entirely sure what had sparked his earlier impulse. For a fleeting moment, he had wanted someone-anyone-to know their secret.
“I need to use the bathroom first,” he said, glancing at the time. “I’ll take you to Mr. Ward in half an hour.”
Caden was a master of romance, sparing no effort to craft the perfect Valentine’s Day for Alicia.
The evening was flawless in every detail, and Gemma’s piano performance became the crowning jewel, the final touch that elevated the night into something magical.
It was the first time Pierre had seen Gemma so radiant, so utterly dazzling. His gaze followed her, unrelenting, as if drawn by an invisible force. His heart stuttered in his chest, its rhythm erratic, like a machine spinning out of control.
When the final note lingered in the air and the applause began, Gemma gracefully lifted her skirt and descended the stage. Pierre, as though moved by instinct alone, stepped forward, his broad frame shadowing hers as he whispered, “Be careful of the steps.”
Gemma reached out, her delicate hand finding the fabric of his sleeve for balance. She turned to him with a bright, satisfied smile and asked, “Did I play well?”