The Marriage She Turned into War novel Chapter 214

I lay on the bed, trying to relax and get some rest.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a notification. I picked it up absentmindedly. I glanced at the screen and saw the trending headlines.

"Abigail Bardot Spotted At a Hotel With Rising Star, Joshua Levine."

"Abigail And Joshua Caught Getting Cozy—Wedding Bells Soon?"

"Joshua And Samuel: Brewing Conflict?"

As I read the headlines, a suffocating wave of frustration rose in my chest.

Not long ago, Abigail had begged me to play the role of her loving husband in front of Ms. Sims to secure a crucial business deal. And yet here she was, blatantly disregarding her own words. She'd been publicly seen with Joshua again, looking far too intimate for it to be innocent.

This wasn't the first time—or the second, for that matter.

She'd used her connections and influence to open doors for Joshua, pushing him into the spotlight. And now, the gossip about their relationship was all over the news.

One moment, she was asking me to have a child with her, and the next, she was sneaking around with Joshua.

I couldn't make sense of her actions or why she kept dragging me into this mess. The only relief was knowing Lana wouldn't hear about this. I couldn't imagine explaining something like this to her.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. My stomach churned as pain began to stab through my abdomen.

I stumbled to the bathroom, intending to splash some water on my face. But before I could reach the sink, a wave of nausea overwhelmed me. I dropped to my knees and vomited violently into the toilet, the episode leaving me utterly drained.

After what felt like forever, I pulled myself up, rinsed my face, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My gaunt, hollow eyes stared back at me, and all I saw was exhaustion.

What had I even been through in the past few months?

I pressed a hand to her forehead—it was burning up. She seemed to have overdone it with the drinking and caught a chill from the cold night air.

I quickly grabbed an ice pack and gently placed it on her forehead, then wiped the sweat from her face with a damp towel.

As I turned to leave, she grabbed my wrist, her voice barely above a whisper. "Don't go... don't leave me."

I pried her hand away gently, my tone calm. "I'm not leaving. I'm just getting you some water."

Hearing the reassurance, she relaxed, releasing her grip.

I fetched a glass of warm water and some hangover pills. When I returned, I noticed her red, puffy eyes—she'd been crying.

She blinked at me groggily, her arms wrapping around my waist as if she couldn't bear to let go.