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Revenge is My Love Language novel Chapter 283

For three whole days, Anastasia didn’t leave her room.

She cried herself hoarse, her eyes so puffy it was painful to look at her. Curled up in his arms, she kept repeating over and over how sorry she was, her voice trembling with regret.

But her tears did nothing to soften the man holding her.

Harrison’s heart seemed carved from stone—cold, unyielding, impossible to sway.

When the master bedroom door finally opened, the staff waiting anxiously outside—especially Fiona and Logan—breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Anastasia finally reappeared, but only because Harrison was carrying her.

Her long hair hid half her small, pale face. Her eyes were swollen and red, her lips pressed tight with stubborn silence. Even nestled in his arms, she kept her head down, quietly sobbing, refusing to look at him or utter a word.

Harrison paid her sulking no mind. He strode confidently toward the dining room, still cradling her against his chest.

He didn’t set her down at the table either, simply kept her in his lap. When Anastasia tried to wriggle free and sit beside him, his arm—unyielding as steel—tightened instantly, locking her in place.

“Don’t move.” He shot her a sidelong glance, his tone cool, a warning clear in his eyes.

The table was set with a lavish spread—all her favorite dishes, clearly prepared under Harrison’s special instructions.

He ladled up a spoonful of warm, nourishing soup and brought it to her lips.

Anastasia’s mouth trembled; she turned her head sharply away.

Harrison’s hand stilled. His voice was calm but commanding: “Open your mouth.”

“I’m not hungry!” Anastasia choked out, her voice cracked and pitiful, eyes growing even redder with the weight of her hurt.

Her words bubbled up in a hiccupping sob, tinged with defiance: “Just let me starve, for all you care. Why bother with me at all—”

“I can’t bear to,” Harrison replied, setting the spoon down. He brushed away the tear at the corner of her eye with his thumb.

His voice went icy, dangerous: “So, after three days, you still don’t think you did anything wrong, do you?”

Anastasia looked up and froze, startled by the storm in his eyes.

Her hurt only deepened, mingling with rising anger.

Tears streaming, she cried out, “I wasn’t wrong! You’re the one who refuses to listen!”

Almost before the words were out, she fought free of his hold, ignoring the ache in her body, and bolted from his lap, fleeing the dining room without a backward glance.

She hadn’t done anything wrong—she was only thinking of his safety, wasn’t she? Why should she be punished for that? If he couldn’t appreciate her concern, fine—but to punish her, to frighten her, to try to crush her spirit with his arrogance?

Anastasia’s heart ached as she ran, tears blurring her vision. She didn’t look back.

The temperature in the dining room seemed to plunge. A suffocating silence settled over the table—so frigid none of the servants dared to breathe, let alone meet Harrison’s eyes.

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