Chapter 74: A Standoff

Sean unbuttoned his shirt, then abruptly grabbed Abigail's hand at her waist and pulled it down.

She winced as if scalded and yanked her hand away, her cheeks flushing crimson. He held her hand firmly, a cruel glint in his eyes, and leaned down, asking insolently, "Do you prefer the waist or here?"

"Let me go!" Her face burned as she stared at him, astonished by his audacity. He released her hand, then crouched, taking hold of her ankle and lifting her leg.

Abigail winced in pain, gasping for breath. She watched as Sean delicately removed her high-heeled shoe, his hands cupping her foot. The warm touch sent shivers up her spine, making her quiver uncontrollably. Goosebumps erupted across her body, and her skin felt taut, as if scalded.

He squeezed slightly harder, causing her to inhale sharply. She gripped the bedsheet as he asked, "Should I call a doctor?"

"N-No need," she replied. She believed it was a muscle or tissue injury, not a bone fracture.

He pinched her ankle, then stood and retrieved an ice pack from the refrigerator, wrapping it in his handkerchief. He pressed the pack against her ankle, surprising her slightly. The silky touch of the cloth, combined with the ice, sent a chill through her body. She instinctively shrank from the cold.

"Too much?" Sean asked.

"No, it just caught me off guard," she replied, shaking her head.

He held her foot on his thigh, one hand applying the ice pack, the other gently massaging her ankle. Her feet were pretty—each toe slightly shorter than the last, appearing cute and chubby. Being a full-time housewife, she rarely wore high heels at home, so her feet remained healthy and unblemished.

As Sean massaged, his hand gradually moved upward. Abigail's back stiffened, her body tingling. She stared at him and warned, "Massage the ankle only. Don't do anything else. We're on a TV show."

He pinched her calf and leaned closer. "Even if I did, what could the crew do?"

"Sean…" Before Abigail could continue, he kissed her, silencing her. He moved his hand upward, his voice husky. "You're my wife. I can be affectionate with you anywhere. It's not illegal."

Her body went limp; her legs were trapped, preventing movement, so she could only allow him to continue. When his hand slipped under her clothes, she instinctively held his hand. "Be gentle," she whispered.

He chuckled and pulled her into the bed. Afterward, she lay exhausted, while he cleaned up and dressed, preparing to leave. Even with his bravado, he was clearly concerned about being caught on camera. It would be difficult to explain.

She lay with her eyes closed, her thoughts calmer than before, the resentment lessened. His earlier abandonment of her injured self in the garden had been far more bitter and disappointing.

Sean dressed neatly and checked the time. It was already 4:00 AM. "I'll go back to my room. If your leg hurts during the day, call a doctor," he said.

"Mm," Abigail replied indifferently.

He stood by the bed, staring at her back before asking, "Are you mad?"

"Isn't this how we've always been?" she answered swiftly, unwilling to discuss her feelings. There was no need. Her desire for divorce had been building for a long time, not just a day or two. She didn't want to reconsider because of their intimacy.

Sean sat on the bed. He looked at her rounded shoulders, wondering 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, pulling the blanket higher.

"I don't have anything bottled up. I'm just tired," she murmured sleepily. She no longer felt compelled to express herself, nor did she expect their marriage to bring happiness. She simply had no fantasies about the future.

I have removed the asterisks as the censored words are unnecessary in this context. The cleaned-up passage flows better and maintains the intended meaning without resorting to censorship.