CHAPTER 192: CHAPTER 192: WIFE-DOTING MANIAC BLAKE SINCLAIR

Blake Sinclair’s body froze as he slowly turned around.

At the doorway to the study, Holly Crowe stood there at some point unknown to him.

She was still dressed in that elegant white satin gown, with the ruby necklace shining brilliantly.

However, her face was expressionless, her eyes cold, leaving only the disappointment of being deceived.

She looked at him, at the remnants of panic and guilt on his face, as if silently accusing him of his lies.

She stepped into the study, glancing at the open safe and the two marriage certificates inside.

Finally, her gaze fell on Blake Sinclair’s pale face, mocking, "Blake Sinclair, have you had enough of this charade?"

The air seemed to freeze, with the study door open, faint sounds of the banquet in the foyer could be heard, making the deathly silence of this space stand out even more.

From earlier, accompanying Sinclair to search for a Magic Wand, passing by the study, inadvertently glimpsing the safe through the door crack, a thorn had settled in her heart.

That safe clearly should be in the study at The Grandflora Gardens.

How could someone with amnesia remember to move this particular safe back to Sinclair Manor?

Holly recalled his emotions and actions these days that didn’t fit the role of someone with amnesia.

Coupled with the confidence at the banquet just now when he faced those old foxes and their difficulties.

The absurd speculation in her mind became clearer and more chilling.

So, she took a gamble.

Unexpectedly, the truth was so direct and cruel.

Watching him panic, running upstairs, expertly entering the password.

Her heart tightened more and more, waves of stabbing pain, like needles.

"Blake Sinclair, how many times have you deceived me? Now, are you even faking amnesia?"

Remembering these days, she agonized over his amnesia, tiptoeing around, even secretly feeling sad.

It turned out, from beginning to end, she was the only one performing a solo act, like a pitiful clown.

Blake Sinclair looked at the disappointment and sorrow in her eyes, feeling heart-wrenching pain.

He hurried forward, grabbing her hand, incoherently explaining, "Holly, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to deceive you! I originally planned to tell you everything after tonight’s banquet, to confess to you..."

"Tell me? Confess?"

Holly shook off his hand, stepping back, putting distance between them.

"When did you regain your memory? Or were you never amnesiac from the start?"

Her voice rose slightly due to agitation.

Blake Sinclair was stung by the distrust in her eyes, his throat tightening, "When I woke up, I had indeed forgotten everything. It was only a few days later that the memories started coming back."

"A few days later?"

Holly let out a cold laugh, her voice particularly piercing, "Exactly which day? Was it before you first came to Glynmere to find me, or after?"

Blake Sinclair looked at her, his lips moved but under her gaze, he ultimately admitted defeat.

"...After."

That day he went to Glynmere to tell her.

But after sensing her deliberate aloofness, and discovering the divorce agreement.

He chose to go along with the mistake, taking advantage of the "amnesia" to approach and make amends with her in a different capacity.

"Ha."

Holly sneered, all of her suspicions were confirmed.

So that unfamiliar attitude that day was all an act.

"Blake Sinclair, you really played me like a fiddle, didn’t you? Your acting skills are impressive! Watching me feel guilty over your amnesia, did you find it entertaining?"

"No! Holly, listen to my explanation!"

Blake Sinclair rarely at a loss, "I never thought of it that way. I just didn’t know what else to do."

"I was afraid if you knew I remembered, you’d push me away again like before, afraid you’d be even more determined to leave me because of those past events! I just wanted a chance to get close, to make it up to you."

Holly listened to his pale excuses, finding it laughable.

She understood his thoughts, but after one deception after another in these short months, she could no longer believe him.

Just then, Auntie Ward’s voice came from outside the door, "Blake, Holly? Are you in there? Several uncles are asking where you two went, Laurel asked me to call you down."

This confrontation came to a temporary halt.

Holly gave him a cold look and turned away.

Back in the foyer, the lights still shone brilliantly, but Holly’s mood had completely changed.

The gentle demeanor she put on to cooperate with him was long gone by now.

She had no interest in pretending anymore.

So, in the latter half of the banquet, everyone was surprised to find that Mrs. Sinclair seemed to have quite a temper.

A great-uncle from the Sinclair Group extended family, whose daughter had just entered the entertainment circle, hoped Blake Sinclair could lend a hand and specially came over to greet them.

Holly listened and then warmly pulled Blake Sinclair over, "Yes, President Sinclair has especially good acting skills, excelling in any role. Cousin, you should learn from him."

This left everyone exchanging glances, not understanding the hidden meaning.

When Blake Sinclair brought food to her, she directly refused, "Too greasy, don’t want it, had too many pancakes."

Then she’d turn and walk away.

Throughout the event, she did not give Blake Sinclair a good look, overtly and covertly contradicting him.

Yet, Blake Sinclair’s attitude was even more surprising to everyone.

The president of Sinclair Group, who was usually the king of Beldon’s business world, faced Holly’s cold shoulder without any anger, keeping a good-natured smile the whole time.

Her sarcastic jabs, he’d smoothly deflect.

All those veiled criticisms, he absorbed completely, even going along with them saying, "Holly is right."

His cautious, indulgent behavior, in everyone’s eyes, was far removed from his usual cold authority.

The vivid image of a man henpecked by his wife emerged.

Those who had been privately gossiping about Holly’s ordinary background, inappropriateness in the match, all quietly shut their mouths.

A woman who could have Blake Sinclair lowering himself to such an extent, need their position in The Sinclair Family be questioned?

Laurel Sinclair watched everything with keen eyes, and during a lull, walked over to Blake Sinclair.

Lightly nudging him with her elbow, she teased, "Reaping what you sow, right? I already advised you to be honest, but you insisted on playing games."

Blake Sinclair’s gaze remained on the figure in the distance, deliberately mingling with others but refusing to look in his direction.

"Yes, I deserve it."

One willingly plays, the other willingly takes it.

Laurel Sinclair shrugged helplessly and prepared to walk away.

As her gaze shifted away, she suddenly saw a familiar figure flash past the backyard, and her steps halted.

Just then, a scream came from the backyard.

"Ah! Someone fell into the water!"

Immediately following, Auntie Ward’s panicked cries pierced through, carrying a sobbing voice, "Help! Someone come! Sinclair fell into the water!"

"Sinclair?"

Laurel Sinclair’s face changed dramatically, dropping her glass, she lifted her dress and ran towards the backyard.

Holly and Blake Sinclair, hearing the cries, promptly followed suit.

In the backyard of Sinclair Manor, there was a decorative pond, originally meant for fish and aesthetic purposes, but the water was deeper than it seemed.

Sinclair, wearing a white puffed dress, was floundering in the icy pond, the sound of choking on water and crying heart-wrenching.

Almost simultaneously, two figures plunged into the pond.

It was Blake Sinclair and, unknown to anyone when he arrived at the backyard, Sebastian Shaw.

Laurel Sinclair also wanted to jump in, but Holly held her back.

Both swam towards Sinclair, reaching her almost simultaneously.

However, seeing Sebastian Shaw’s expression change, he immediately released his grip, handing Sinclair over to Blake Sinclair.

A life buoy was soon tossed from the shore, Blake Sinclair held onto Sinclair who was terrified, and grabbed the life buoy with the other hand, being pulled up by the others.

In the early autumn night, the pond was already chillingly cold.

When Blake Sinclair reached the shore, he was drenched.

Before entering the water, he had taken off his suit jacket, and now wore only a white shirt.

The soaked shirt clung tightly to his body, the buttons at his chest having popped open in the struggle, revealing a muscular chest, and the fierce scar upon it.