Seeing Alexander's expression, I found it laughable—so laughable that I didn't even want to waste a single word. Just as I raised my hand to hit her again, Jocelyn finally snapped out of it and grabbed my wrist. "Enough!"
"Phillip." Her gaze turned icy and her tone grew stern. "This isn't your playhouse."
"Can't you stop being so reckless without considering the situation?"
The woman, who was none other than my wife, forcefully pushed me away.
Caught off guard, I stumbled and bumped my lower back into the corner of the table. A dull pain shot through me, making me wince, then a flicker of guilt flashed Jocelyn's eyes as she reached out to help me.
However, Alexander stepped forward first and cried as he tried to explain to me. "Phillip, there's nothing between Jocelyn and me. She just felt sorry for me and wanted to help me, but she was framed for soliciting prostitution. You've been with her for so many years, shouldn't you know what kind of person she is?"
His voice grew louder and louder and he sobbed more and more, as if he had truly suffered a great injustice.