He Called Me Fragile, Then I Ripped the Doorframe Apart Barehanded Chapter 03

He Called Me Fragile, Then I Ripped the Doorframe Apart Barehanded Chapter 03

I stopped, every nerve in my body tightening.

Victoria plucked a flower from a nearby planter and approached me with a bright smile.

“I heard you’re prone to allergies. Think this will set you off?”

She shook the flower directly in my face, coating me with pollen.

“Achoo! Achoo!”

I sneezed over and over as tears spilled uncontrollably from my eyes.

Victoria stepped back laughing and called toward the hallway.

“Adrian, come look! Your wife is hilarious!”

At some point, Adrian had appeared at the entrance to the covered walkway.

He watched me struggle through another round of sneezing, his brow drawing together slightly.

In the end, all he said was, “Stop messing around, Victoria. It’s time to eat.”

Victoria pouted, slung an arm around his shoulders, and walked away with him.

“You’re no fun.”

Claire rushed over to steady me as tears spilled down her face.

“Ms. Langford, please tell me we don’t have to keep putting up with this.”

I wiped my face with my sleeve and took several deep breaths before finally bringing the sneezing under control.

“I’m fine, Claire.” I patted her hand.

Never underestimate the bond between me and the family business!

On my fifth day at the Mercer estate, the family held a formal dinner so the entire extended Mercer family could meet—and size up—the new bride.

They seated me at the far end of the table.

Adrian sat near the head of the table, while Victoria occupied the chair beside him. She was closer to him than I was, even though I was his wife.

The older relatives kept glancing between Victoria and me, their expressions loaded with meaning.

The third course had barely reached the table when one of Adrian’s older aunts spoke.

“Adrian, your new wife is certainly pretty, but she looks awfully frail. How is she supposed to have children someday?”

“I hear she’s been in and out of hospitals since childhood. What if she passes all those health problems on to her children…”

Every eye at the table turned toward me.

I set down my fork, ready to answer for myself.

Victoria smiled and placed a bowl of soup in front of me.

“Natalie has always had delicate health, so I had the kitchen make her some homemade chicken soup to soothe her throat.”

The relatives immediately praised her.

“Victoria is so thoughtful.”

I stared at the soup.

A faint scent lingered in it that should not have been there.

It was sherry.

My alcohol allergy, which could cause severe respiratory distress, was flagged at the top of my medical record.

There was no way Victoria did not know.

Everyone was watching me.

My mother’s warning ran through my head again. Three thousand families depended on me, and I only had to endure six months.

I drew a deep breath, lifted the bowl, and took a small sip.

Within three seconds, my face turned bright red, my breathing quickened, and large hives spread across my neck.

“Ms. Langford!” Claire rushed into the room.

Victoria covered her mouth, her expression a perfect picture of innocence.

“Oh my God, I had no idea Natalie was allergic to alcohol! I only added a splash of cooking sherry for flavor…”

“She’s allergic to one thing after another.” Adrian’s aunt shook her head. “With health like that, I don’t see how she could ever carry a pregnancy.”

The relatives whispered among themselves, making no attempt to hide the disgust in their eyes.

I rose from my chair, gasping for breath as tears poured down my face.

I was not crying because my feelings were hurt. The allergic reaction was making my eyes water uncontrollably.

To everyone else, however, it looked as though the new wife had humiliated herself by bursting into tears at a family dinner.

I headed for the door.

As I passed Adrian, I looked at him.

He had not even put down his fork.

He remained expressionless and completely silent.

Claire helped me reach the doorway, but my knees suddenly buckled.

I instinctively caught myself against the doorframe.

The solid wood gave way silently beneath my fingertips, leaving five distinct finger-shaped dents.

I immediately let go and hid my hand inside my sleeve.

I forced myself to take a deep breath.

I had to endure it.

I could endure a little more.

I could still endure it.