Chapter 3

In the middle of the night, Penelope was half-asleep when she was pulled into a burning-hot embrace. A moment later, a familiar kiss pressed against her lips, forceful and insistent. She shoved Damian away and reached to switch on the lamp. "Damian!" Her voice was cold and hoarse, instantly shattering whatever haze of intimacy still lingered. Damian's eyes locked on her swollen, red-rimmed ones. Some of the alcohol seemed to drain from his expression. "Honey, I'm sorry. I forgot you're on your period. How's your stomach? Still hurting? Let me massage it for you." As he spoke, his hand moved with practiced familiarity, ready to slide beneath her clothes. Penelope stepped away, revulsion tightening in her chest. "You're drunk. I'm sleeping in the guest room." But Damian's arm hooked around her waist, pulling her back. "I won't touch you. Just let me hold you, okay?" His tone was languid, almost pleading, like a man begging for comfort. Then, her gaze flicked over his bare chest. She spotted a fresh, unmistakable scratch mark. Her lips curved into a bitter smile. How could he have the gall to touch another woman, then come to her for intimacy? She wanted to ask if he had enjoyed himself tonight. Before she could speak, Damian had already passed out. The silence was broken by a series of sharp WhatsApp notifications, each one grating against her nerves. She picked up his phone—35 voice messages from Jasmine. When she tapped them, Jasmine's soft, sultry voice spilled into the room. "Honey, we just ran out of condoms. Go buy more, and not the cheesecake-flavored ones. Last time Samson came into the room, the smell lingered, and he kept asking if I'd stolen his snacks." "Honey, are you home yet? Samson and Sienna just asked why you can't sleep with them. I didn't know how to answer." "Honey, when you're with her, do you ever think about me?" "Honey, I don't mind if you're with her, but you can't use our new position with her." The phone slipped from Penelope's hand as she drew in ragged breaths, her chest tight and aching. That filthy, syrupy voice still echoed in her mind. She stood and walked straight out of the room. The next morning, Damian rushed into the guest room, his expression tense. "Honey, why'd you sleep in here? Did I wake you when I got home last night? I'm sorry. Yesterday was Leroy's birthday. I got a little carried away and drank too much." The memory of those voice messages made her stomach churn. Seeing her cold expression, Damian ventured cautiously. "Honey, you didn't see anything you shouldn't have, right?" He had woken up to find over 90 new voice messages from Jasmine on WhatsApp, with some marked as already opened. Panic had struck instantly, but when he looked at Penelope's calm, unreadable face, doubt crept in. A flash of mockery lit her eyes. "What do you think I might have seen? Or is there something you don't want me to know?" For a brief second, Damian's face went pale, but he quickly smoothed it over with a look of deep affection. Pulling her into his arms, he said, "Our anniversary is in a few days. I've been planning a surprise for you. If you find out early, then all my effort will be wasted, right?" A cold heaviness settled in Penelope's chest. She didn't bother exposing his effortless lies. It didn't matter anymore, because she would be leaving soon. After that, whether he was whispering into Jasmine's phone or lying in her bed, it would have nothing to do with Penelope ever again.