Chapter 288

Joshua was at a business dinner when the message arrived. The private room buzzed with suited men clinking glasses, laughter swirling through cigar smoke.

Adrian Campbell offered him a cigarette. Joshua reached for it, then paused at Shermaine’s text. “No, thanks.”

Adrian smirked. “Your wife banned smoking?” No one had thought Shermaine could tame Joshua, Basterel’s most untouchable man.

“Mm. Don’t want to upset her,” Joshua admitted, amused.

Truthfully, Shermaine never forbade it, just nagged about health risks. Joshua had planned to take one cigarette tonight, but her message changed his mind.

Adrian pocketed the pack. Joshua refused, and he didn’t push. Besides, after watching this display of affection, only envy remained in his mind.

Joshua replied: [Should I prepare a whip?]

Shermaine pictured it and laughed. [Planning to misbehave?]

Joshua chuckled. He thought, ‘My girl is learning to flirt.’

He sent: [Sheary, I’d never dare.]

The man who feared nothing now had one terror—his wife’s temper.

It was just a joke, but seeing how indulgent he was being, Shermaine’s smile deepened.

Joshua added: [If I screw up, hit me all you want. Just don’t banish me on the couch.] That was true torture for a married man. Even occasional solo nights were agony.

Shermaine shook her head with a smile.

Downstairs, Jameson winced in pain. The man who had once beaten Madeline now flinched at the sight of Ruth’s feather duster.

Her ferocity made his knees buckle. He nearly bolted, but her offer stopped him. “You mean it?” He gritted out.

Ruth scoffed, “When have I ever lied to you?”

Jameson clenched his fists. “I cheated. That’s on me. Losing Shermaine was my fault. Hit me all you want, then we’re done. But I’m not kneeling.” Not for anyone, especially not for Ruth.

“Fine.” Ruth swung the duster, striking strategically. She was selective about where she hit – places that hurt like hell but left no real damage.

Yet Jameson, aged and weakened by years of heavy drinking, couldn’t endure it. Within a few strikes, he was pale, drenched in cold sweat, barely standing.

Seeing him trying to stubbornly stand, Ruth aimed straight at his calves.

“Ah!” With a thud, Jameson collapsed to his knees, humiliation burning his face. “Enough! Aren’t you satisfied yet?”

“A few strikes won’t repay what you owe me,” Ruth spat.

Jameson’s face darkened, but he had no retort.

Finally, Ruth tossed the feather duster aside, satisfaction coursing through her. “I’ll have new divorce agreements drawn up.”