Just last night, as I clutched my chest in the throes of a heart attack, Giselle still insisted on heading out with Knox to watch a meteor shower.
Even as I collapsed, foaming at the mouth, she had stepped over me without so much as a pause.
Before I blacked out, I vaguely heard her instruct the butler, “Disinfect the whole living room. Knox is coming back tomorrow. I don’t want him smelling anything foul.”
Fingers tightening around the suitcase handle, I turned to leave.
But then Giselle grabbed my wrist, her touch ice cold.
“Apologize.”
“Wha—”
Before I could finish, she shoved me roughly toward Knox.
My knee slammed into the diamond shards, scraping open against them, and the white floor was soon stained with blood.
At the sight of it, Giselle recoiled, releasing me with a look full of disdain.
“You broke Knox’s bracelet on purpose and hurt him too. Don’t you think you owe him an apology?”
After marrying Giselle, “I’m sorry” had become my daily chant.
Was the soup too bland? I’m sorry.
Texted her out of worry when she got drunk? Sorry for disturbing you.
I accidentally caught a glimpse of Knox’s message asking her to meet at a hotel. Sorry for invading your privacy.