Chapter 899: Give In
Susan hung up the phone. Looking around the elaborately decorated room—the candlelit dinner table, her sexy red dress—a surge of grievance filled her heart. "Manuel, you bastard!" she thought. Driven by anger, she fled.
As soon as Susan ended the call, Manuel rushed from his office, into hers, only to find it empty. He bolted from the building. Clara, left alone, watched with a pitiful expression as he ignored her pleas in the underground parking lot. He cared only for Susan. Clara, teeth clenched, watched his car speed away, stamping her foot in envy. She couldn't understand his panic at Susan's anger, nor Susan's appeal to him. Her scream of frustration startled nearby cars. She vowed never to give up.
He arrived home to find the parlor elaborately decorated: roses, fine wine, candles. Silence fell upon him. He knew Susan was planning something, and realized he'd been too nonchalant lately. He recalled her hospital complaint about his thin frame bumping against her, a comment that spurred his recent weight training regimen. While his muscles were growing, it wasn't enough; he always wanted to be his best for Susan. But she hadn't waited. The thought of her ignited him; Susan was adept at arousing his desire. The memory of their planned romantic evening overwhelmed him with lust. His long abstinence had driven him nearly mad. He fought to control his burning urge. Finding Susan became his priority.
He turned to leave, suspecting she’d run away—she'd always been willful and reckless. Her phone was off. He raced toward the gate, planning a city-wide search. His body tensed; his mouth went dry—a novel sensation. He quickened his pace.
As he neared the gate, a familiar voice called, "Manuel." He froze, unsure if it was a hallucination. He turned, disbelief washing over him as he saw her in a shadowed corner, almost invisible in the dim light. He'd just passed that spot, yet hadn't seen her—his anxiety, or perhaps his desire, had blinded him. He approached slowly, composing himself. He’d assumed she'd fled in a rage, never expecting her to still be there, to bear her grievance alone. He'd had a plan to soothe her anger, but she was waiting. His desire threatened to consume him. He stopped before her; another step, and they would be in each other's arms. He knew his flushed face and ragged breathing were visible. He stared as she leaned against the wall, her red slip dress loose, one strap fallen from her shoulder. He swallowed hard.
Susan, however, seemed oblivious to his turmoil, still simmering with anger. She should have gone to a club, she thought; yet, she'd returned. She only wanted Manuel. Minutes passed as she wrestled with her indecision. She hadn’t expected his swift return. Was he worried? But if so, why the long conversation with Clara? Knowing Clara's intentions, why had he given her that time with him? Tears welled, but she remained outwardly silent, hoping to evoke guilt and an apology.
Silence hung heavy. Susan avoided his gaze, but Manuel was assessing her from head to toe. Their perspectives differed vastly. Her patience dwindled, vanishing within five minutes. She huffed, "Manuel, are you stupid? Say something!" She craved comforting words, yet her pride prevented her from yielding. He remained silent, his lips pressed together—she didn’t see his trembling hands.
"Manuel!" Her eyes blazed. "Idiot!" Tears threatened. "Just tell me you didn't mean to talk to Clara. Say it! Then I'll forgive you." She'd conceded. She was used to his indifference and silence.