Irritability surged through him; Damian subconsciously retracted his finger.
The ring
fell at his feet, and he realized what was happening
He was getting married.
Damian anxiously tugged at his tie.
T
He’d never liked restrictive formal wear,
or these complicated procedures.
Thankfully, it would soon be over.
Mening Ivy’s distressed gaze, Damian suppressed his unease.
Compromising he was about to bend down to pick up the ring,
when a subordinate, pale–faced, ran in.
“Bou! The Falcon Family is attacking!”
Interdiately, a loud roar came from the distant shore.
Dumian’s face changed drastically.
“Where’s Elara? Where is Flara!?”
He knew the Falcone Family hated me.
At that moment, all his unease and anxiety proved prescient. Damian had always been confident that I could protect myself.
< Chat of My Husband’s Love) -Chapter
Even when he made me have children for Ivy, he believed my children would be as resilient as [
But now, remembering the despair and disappointment in my eyes when I last looked at him…
He couldn’t gamble.
He was afraid I would truly leave him forever.
The guests scattered, Ivy standing amongst them, her face grim.
She had pestered Damian for a long time to get this grand wedding.
She’d waited a whole month,
only to have her face slapped by Damian’s distraction during the ring exchange.
She knew he was distracted because he hadn’t heard from me.
But now, in this life–or–death moment, his mind was still on me!
Ivy’s jealousy bordered on madness
She simply couldn’t understand what attraction I held for Damian.
An attraction that had made him repeatedly warn her not to bother me.
She desperately suppressed her anger, constantly reassuring herself that she had married Damian, and soon they would be a true couple
Damian didn’t notice the hatred in ber
eyes.
He grabbed his subordinate’s collar and asked again,
receiving an answer he found utterly unacceptable
“Elara. someone saw her jump into the sea!”
Damian’s breath hitched; his vision blurred.
What did he mean… jumped into the wea?
He suddenly remembered our first meeting, when I fought with a beggar for food.
Crouched in a dumpster, desperately stuffing garbage into my mouth.
My ribs were broken, yet I refused to let go.
He’d crouched before me, mockingly asking why.
I’d looked at him and said.
“I don’t want to die.
My wes eyes had pierced his heart.
That day, he’d taken me home.
Later, I took a bullet for him.
The bullet grazed my hear, and I cried my heart out.
Lying in his arms, I repeated again and again, I don’t want to die.
