My Husband’s Other Self Loved Me Chapter 04

My Husband’s Other Self Loved Me Chapter 04

My knee hit the edge of the bedframe, a jolt of pain shooting up my leg.

I clenched my teeth, refusing to make a sound.

Malachi sighed, took out his phone, and after a few taps, showed me a photo.

The woman in the picture was short, with a stern face.

“Do you remember her, Greer?”

“You wouldn’t forget the person who saved your life, would you?”

“If she hadn’t called the police back then, you might still be locked in that basement.”

He paused.

“The man who hurt you was just released from prison. I heard he’s been asking around about her. Wants revenge.”

Malachi tapped the screen, pasting an address into a text message, and hovered his finger over the send button.

“Apologize now, or I send him her address.”

“Your choice.”

My mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood.

I realized I’d bitten through my lip.

“Fine. I’ll apologize.”

Like a puppet on a string, I faced the camera and spoke, one agonizing sentence at a time.

“…I’m sorry, Sloane.”

“I shouldn’t have spread false rumors about you online out of jealousy.”

“I shouldn’t have used my own photos and claimed they were yours.”

Sloane struggled to hide the triumph in her eyes.

“You don’t think one little apology erases what you did, do you? That’s too easy.”

She bit her lip and glanced at Malachi off-camera, as if making a great concession.

“Forget it. I don’t want to be accused of pushing someone over the edge.”

“I want her to publicly commit to getting psychological treatment for her jealousy and pathological lying.”

“From now on, she’ll post an update on her treatment progress on Instagram once a week for a full year.”

“If she does that, I won’t press charges.”

“Did you hear that, Greer?”

Malachi’s tone was flat.

“Sloane is being more than generous. Don’t drag this out.”

By the time it was over, my forehead was slick with cold sweat.

Sweat and tears blurred my vision.

The scene felt just like it had ten years ago.

But the man standing before me now would never again look at me with pain in his eyes.

I stood up and staggered toward the door.

Seeing me like this, Malachi showed a rare flicker of unease.

He reached out, an instinct to grab me.

But Sloane cut him off.

“Malachi, I feel awful. Can you come be with me now?”

He hesitated.

In that single second of hesitation, I was already past him.

“Are you actually worried about that woman?”

Sloane’s tone dripped with mockery.

“Have you forgotten how she lied to you?”

“What does she know besides faking suicide attempts to make you feel guilty?”

“It’s the same old act. Crying, making a scene, threatening to die.”

“Malachi, are you really going to fall for it again?”

I heard Malachi’s reply, perfectly clear.

“No.”

“Not anymore.”

I walked out of the ward, stepped into the elevator, and moved like an empty shell until I finally reached the rooftop.

The wind was strong.

So was the rain.

Beyond the wind, the rain, and my own heartbeat, I heard nothing.

At last, I had room to breathe.

Downstairs, Malachi was starting his Porsche.

He hadn’t closed the window.

Suddenly, there was a dull thud.

Malachi’s entire body went rigid.

He jerked his head up, and his hand on the steering wheel began to shake.