CHAPTER 8: CHAPTER 8: ANOTHER MAN’S SCENT ON HIS WIFE

The man did not look at her; his gaze passed through the glass and fell on the distant fireworks. His thin lips parted slightly: "Look, the phoenix rebirths from the ashes."

Victoria Monroe’s attention was drawn to his voice. Thousands of drones rose into the air, forming the pattern of a phoenix.

The phoenix spread its wings, traversed the raging flames, and soared into the clouds.

The sense of awe at this moment was indescribable for Victoria Monroe.

She felt as if she had returned to her teenage years, running through the slum alleyways with Julian Fordham holding her hand, chasing the splendid city center across the way, where the rich set off fireworks.

Back then, Julian Fordham was thin, a young man’s brows spirited and eyes bright, his head drenched in sweat, his vows simple and sincere.

He pointed to those tall buildings and said, "Victoria, one day I’ll take you away. We’ll buy our own house there and set off fireworks just for you."

They were like two wild grasses, warming each other in the cold night of poverty, full of tenacity to climb upward.

Victoria Monroe waited for many years but still never got the fireworks that belonged to her.

She pressed against the glass, her eyes slightly red, momentarily forgetting the man sitting beside her.

A cool and indifferent voice came to her ear: "Ms. Monroe, you should have been the phoenix flying across the skies, but you’re locked in a cage as a canary. Are you really content?"

Victoria Monroe looked at that phoenix freely spreading its wings in the sky, the scene of her giving an acceptance speech with a trophy in her hand came to mind.

Back then, she left the scene willingly, but her current unwillingness was real too.

She met those indifferent eyes, devoid of any apparent desire.

Her fingers involuntarily clenched his shirt, pleading: "Rhys Hawthorne, can you help me?"

His dark pupils reflected Victoria Monroe’s stubborn little face, and his bland lips curved into a slight smile, "As you wish."

Victoria Monroe received Rhys Hawthorne’s affirmative answer, making her feelings hard to settle this night.

Looking at the lights outside, she made a decision; she needed to settle things with Julian Fordham.

He wanted to confine her in the prison called marriage under the guise of love.

He bought her the most beautiful dresses and jewelry, but she never wore them to any occasion again.

She ignored the obsessive possession in his eyes.

Perhaps he had been planning many years ago.

Step by step, he clipped her wings until she had no choice but to rely on him obediently.

She didn’t need to have thoughts, dreams, but just obediently become an extension of him.

Thinking of this, a chill ran down Victoria Monroe’s spine.

His love was too obsessive!

That night she had a dream, where the aloof schoolboy pressed her against a tree, sunlight filtering through dense branches onto his white shirt.

His distinct fingers pinched her chin, his long lashes hiding the craziness in his eyes, "Victoria, will you love me?"

In the next scene, the boy grew into a strong man, and his embrace was both fiery and forceful, "Victoria, give me a child."

"Victoria, no one in this world will love you more than I do."

"Victoria..."

Victoria Monroe abruptly opened her eyes, her body covered in a cold sweat under her pajamas. She ran her fingers through her hair; she dreamt of him again.

She opened her phone, reading messages filled with longing.

This Julian Fordham surely wouldn’t agree to a divorce easily.

The Chapter at Portoros had come to an end; she should return today.

Before a film starts shooting, there is still much preparation needed.

She checked out of the hotel and was about to send a thank-you message to Rhys Hawthorne.

Just as she stepped out of the hotel, she saw Assistant Woods standing by a black car.

He even arranged a car to take her to the airport.

Victoria Monroe, carrying a paper bag full of clothes in one hand, drafted a thank-you message with the other.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Assistant Woods open the car door for her. Without looking up, she got into the car and sat down.

Until her soft behind landed on a man’s firm lap, her mind exploded!

She mechanically turned to look back and met a pair of cold, indifferent black eyes.

No way, why was Rhys Hawthorne in the car? And sitting right on the edge!

She had never been this embarrassed in her life.

"Sorry, I was just about to send you a message."

Victoria Monroe immediately stood up, bent over to move to the side. She didn’t know if it was just her imagination, but the man’s gaze seemed to linger on her waist for a moment.

When she sat down and looked at him, his gaze was as cold and indifferent as always.

His hand resting on the armrest was cold white, the veins on the back of his hand bulging, exuding full tension.

Yet his wrist was wrapped with a string of black prayer beads, making him appear indifferent and ascetic.

It was as if they restrained him, and if the chain was broken, he would fall from a god above the skies to a demon.

His deep voice sounded: "I was planning to get out and help you with your things."

"I wasn’t paying attention." She awkwardly tugged at her dress.

Rhys Hawthorne: "What were you going to text me?"

"I wanted to thank you; I troubled you these past two days. Next time you’re in the capital, I’ll make sure to be a good host."

The man’s indifferent lips curved: "I remember you never participated in gatherings before."

Victoria Monroe calmly responded: "People change."

The car drove into the airport.

She got out and politely thanked him: "Thank you."

The car window rolled down, and Rhys Hawthorne’s voice came from behind: "Victoria Monroe."

She paused and turned back, standing graceful and elegant in the sunlight, her dark eyes looking at him.

"We’ll see each other soon."

She nodded, "Okay."

Then she turned to leave, just like the many times before.

The irises on her skirt gradually disappeared from his view.

The driver cautiously asked: "Mr. Hawthorne, can we depart now? Everyone from the board meeting has arrived."

In the rearview mirror, the man’s usually indifferent eyes were like a turbulent black ocean, filled with aggressive possession, seemingly about to devour his prey.

Such dangerous and unrestrained eyes left the driver feeling anxious and alarmed.

The plane landed; returning to her homeland, her emotions had shifted greatly.

Life is still long, and so far, she spent three-quarters of it entangled with the same man.

She suddenly realized the issues in their marriage were not merely about Rachel Hayes’s child.

She wanted to break the barriers confining her and embrace a new life.

As she approached the exit, in the crowd, she immediately spotted the man impeccably dressed in a suit, holding a bouquet of Asai roses.

She wore a mask and sunglasses, even draped a trench coat specifically upon leaving, with the hood pulled up.

Wrapped tightly from head to toe, no one could tell who she was.

But Julian Fordham’s high profile couldn’t be ignored; he stood out in the crowd, walking towards Victoria Monroe.

Under everyone’s gaze, he pulled Victoria Monroe into an embrace, his warm breath falling on her ear, speaking with a relieved tone: "Honey, you’re finally back."

Victoria Monroe lowered her voice and whispered into his ear: "Let go, Julian, don’t force me to slap you in public."

The three-day separation felt like three years to Julian Fordham.

The moment he held Victoria Monroe in his arms again, he felt at ease.

He lowered his head, buried it in her neck, greedily inhaling her scent.

"Honey, I missed you so much..."

In the next moment, he caught a faint whiff of sandalwood from her.

It’s not a scent a woman should have.

Who did she meet in Portoros?

Julian Fordham’s eyes turned cold, as his wife’s body bore the scent of another man’s cologne.