Facade of Love

Chapter 27

Chapter 27 I Think I’m Sick

Idris held his phone as his dark eyes bored into me. He did not answer it. I had no clue what he was thinking, but Moore seemed determined to get through to him. If he did not pick up, she would

simply keep calling.

Finally, he could not resist any longer. He answered the call. I had no idea what was said on the other

end of the line.

He got out of bed, went to the closet, and emerged in different clothes. I lay in bed, silently watching him hurriedly grab his coat and head out.

I watched him leave in silence, all expectations in my heart crumbling. My heart was filled with bitterness and self–mockery.

As Idris reached the bedroom door, he seemed to remember that I was his wife. He paused, looked back at me, and said, “Moore’s scared of thunder. Sorry, I need to go to her. You should get some

rest.”

I did not respond. Anyway, he left too quickly to catch anything I might have wanted to say.

The thunder outside grew increasingly loud. I clutched the blanket tightly as the sound echoed through the empty bedroom, its reverberations lingering for a long time.

Moore was afraid of thunder, he said?

He remembered her fears and could not bear to let her face them alone. He would go to her to comfort

her.

In any case, who was not afraid of thunder? Ever since coming back from the border five years ago, I had never dared to close my eyes on a stormy night. The moment I did, all I would see were the severed limbs and mountains of corpses from my time in captivity. How could Idris not understand? Oh, I forgot. He would never understand. He could not see those things back then. Only I could. Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

The rain outside grew heavier. There was no way I was sleeping tonight. The cruel memories and my current heartache were too much. They made my entire b*dy ache. I reopened the previously–closed window and stood on the balcony, letting the cold wind and freezing rain batter me.

Physical pain sometimes relieved mental torment. This was the only method I had found over the last five years to alleviate the pain of the torture from my past.

I knew I was sick. Terribly sick.

When the bedroom door was pushed open again, I had already been frozen stiff from the cold. Hearing the noise, I turned around.

It was Idris. He had come back.

Seeing me standing by the window and punishing myself, his expression changed drastically. He strode toward me, his handsome face dark and violent, looking almost as if he had gone mad. He

yanked me back from the balcony and almost screamed, “Yvette, have you gone mad?!”

I looked at him, my face frozen, unable to show any expression. I wanted to smile at him but could not muster the strength. I could only rasp, “Why’d you come back?”

His eyes were bloodshot. He roughly pulled me into the bathroom without answering me, and unceremoniously twisted the switch for the shower, letting the hot water pummel me.

When he reached to remove my clothes, I dodged him. My voice was hoarse as I said, “I can do it

myself.”

He was probably angry by now. He glared at me and sneered. “Is there anything of yours I haven’t seen before? Why pretend to be chaste?”

The hot water warmed my b*dy a little. I looked at him and said, “Can you leave? I want to take a

bath.”

He looked at me. His deep, cold eyes almost devoured me. I could tell that my earlier self–harm had angered him. Thankfully, he was well–mannered enough that he would never hit a woman, even

when angry.

He gave me a cold glance before finally leaving the bathroom.

After the bath, I managed to regain some warmth in my b*dy. I stepped out of the bathroom to find another person in the bedroom–the Youngs‘ family doctor.

Seeing me, Idris immediately ordered, “Lie down on the bed.”

I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, but his face was so dark that I thought better of it and lay down. The doctor then performed a full–b*dy check on me.

Nothing was found to be wrong, so I was just advised to drink some soup to warm up and to keep myself warm in general. Then, he left.

After he left, it was already past midnight, so I dozed off shortly after, vaguely aware of Idris giving me something to drink. However, I was too sleepy to care.

The next day when I woke up, Idris was still asleep. This man was so handsome when he was sleeping, lacking his usual stern and cold demeanor. He actually looked quite pleasant.

I could not help but stare at him for a bit longer. Just as I was daydreaming, the phone on the bedside table rang. It was Idris‘. Hearing the noise, he slightly furrowed his brows and murmured with his eyes closed, “You answer it.”

I was startled for a moment, not immediately understanding. Then, I realized he wanted me to pick up the call.

I looked at the phone. The caller ID showed it was Moore. I raised an eyebrow and looked at Idris, who was pretending to sleep. “It’s Moore calling.”

“Mm. You answer it,” he said, his voice low and restrained, showing no particular reaction.

I hesitated for a moment before answering. Moore’s soft voice came through. “Iddy, where are you? I waited for you at the old manor all night. My stomach hurts so badly.”

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