Clara never expected that abandoning her pride and making the first move would result in such a rejection. Her suppressed anger from the morning flared up again, making her eyes sting. She thought she was invulnerable, having been through every kind of heartbreak. But in front of Rhys, she realized she had no armor. His two words drew blood.
"Rhys, what are you still so afraid of?" Clara raised her voice.
In the private room earlier, Rhys had been stiff. She felt she shouldn't use this attitude, should be gentle, but she couldn't help it.
"Do you think you could die at any moment, so you want to leave a way out? Or do you think your current status is easier without the responsibilities of a husband?"
She bit her lower lip, hands trembling with anger. "I told you I don't care how many years you have left, why are you always making decisions for me—"
Before she could finish, his hand gently pinched her chin.
Rhys leaned in, not giving her a chance to stay mad. He kissed her, swallowing her accusations.
Clara pushed against his chest angrily. Every time she wanted to talk, he just kissed her.
Not this time.
But Rhys's hand slid to the back of her head, his warm palm pressing against her scalp. He deepened the kiss, stealing her breath.
Her resistance weakened until she let out a soft whimper. He reluctantly pulled back.
Noses touching, breaths mingling. Rhys looked at her red eyes, sighed, and brushed her wet lips with his thumb.
"What goes on in that head of yours all day?"
Clara glared, her eyes watery. "Isn't it true? I asked to remarry, and you said no..."
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