Abigail’s Second Life (Abigail Quinn)

Chapter 74

Chapter 74 A Standoff

Sean undid the third button, then abruptly seized Abigail’s hand on his waist and pulled it downward.

She winced as if she had been scalded and yanked her hand away, her cheeks flushing crimson. He

held her hand in place, a cruel glint in his eyes, and leaned down, asking in a tone dripping with

insolence, “Do you prefer the waist or here?”

“Let me go!” Her face was hot as she stared at him, astonished by his audacity. He released her hand,

then crouched down, taking hold of her ankle and lifting her leg

Abigail winced from the pain, her breath catching. She watched as Sean delicately removed her high-

heeled shoe, both his hands cupping her foot. The warm touch against her skin sent shivers up her

spine, making her quiver uncontrollably. She felt goosebumps rise all over her body, and her skin

stretched taut as if she had been scalded by boiling water.

He squeezed a little harder, causing her to inhale sharply. She tightened her grip on the bedsheet, after

which he asked, “Should I call a doctor?” Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

She replied, “N-No need.” She believed it was not a bone injury but more like a muscle and tissue

issue.

Pinching her, he stood up and turned to the fridge to get an ice pack and his handkerchief, in which he

wrapped the ice pack. Then, he pressed her ankle against his hankie, and she was slightly surprised.

The silk-like touch of the cloth, with the ice pack inside, sent a chilly sensation into her body. She could

not help but shrink from the cold.

“Too much?” Sean looked up at Abigail.

“No, just caught me off guard.” She shook her head.

He held her foot on his thigh, one hand applying the ice pack and the other gently pressing her ankle.

Her feet were pretty, each toe slightly shorter than the last, looking rather cute and chubby. Being a full-

time housewife, she hardly wore high heels at home, so her feet had not deformed and looked healthy.

As Sean kneaded, his hand gradually moved upward. Abigail’s back stiffened, her body tingling. She

stared at him and warned, “Massage the ankle and just the ankle. Don’t do anything else. We’re on a

TV show.”

He pinched her calf and leaned closer. “Even if I did, what can the crew do to me?”

“Sean…” Before Abigail could say anything else, he kissed her body, causing her words to reverse into

her throat. He moved his hand upward, his voice husky. “You’re my wife. I can be affectionate with you

anywhere. It’s not against the law.”

Her body went limp; her legs were trapped by Sean and unable to move, so she could only let him

have his way. When his hand slipped under her clothes, she could not help but hold his hand. “Be

gentle.”

He chuckled and pulled her into the bedding. After they were done, she lay on the bed, too fatigued to

move, while he cleaned up for her and started dressing, preparing to leave. Even if he talked tough, he

was still worried about getting caught on camera. It would be hard to explain later.

She lay with her eyes closed, pondering in her heart, but there was less resentment than before and

calmer after the disappointment. That man left her injured self in the garden, which was enough

for her to savor the bitterness and disappointment of that moment.

Sean got dressed neatly and checked the time. It was already 4.00AM. “I’ll go back to my room. If your

leg hurts during the day, call the doctor,” he told her.

“Mm.” Abigail’s attitude was indifferent.

He stood by the bed, staring at her back for a moment before asking, “Are you mad?”

“Isn’t this how we’ve always been?” she answered quickly this time, not wanting to talk to him about her

feelings and thoughts after what happened. There was no need to either. Her desire for divorce had

accumulated over time, not just for a day or two. So, she did not want to think about the unreachable

just because of their physical intimacy.

Sean sat down by the bed. He looked at her round shoulders and wondered if she was still upset about

the child. “You always keep things to yourself. You know I’m not a mind reader,” he said. lightly,

reaching out to pull the blanket up for her.

“I don’t have anything bottled up. I’m just tired.” Her voice carried drowsiness. Indeed, she was no

longer eager to tell him how she felt, nor did she expect their marriage to lead to happiness. She

had no fantasies about the future; that was all.