The Internet Told Him to Leave Me, but He’s Still Holding Me Chapter 02

The Internet Told Him to Leave Me, but He’s Still Holding Me Chapter 02

The next morning, Damon made a huge breakfast with all my favorite foods.

“Once we get to the office, I’ve got an important meeting. If you get bored waiting, just text me.”

I took the slice of toast he handed me.

“No, that’s okay.”

He looked up, his eyes lingering on my face.

“Today’s meeting is important. Come in with me today, and I’ll work from home tomorrow. Okay?”

“That’s not what I meant.” I shook my head.

“I’m not going to the office anymore. And you don’t need to work from home, either.”

I used to wish Damon would stay home with me every single day.

Whenever he worked in his home office, I’d curl up on his lap, wrap my arms around him, and steal a kiss whenever I felt like it.

Now that I was finally being reasonable, he should be happy, right?

The faint smile on his face froze for the briefest second.

“Are you still upset?” he asked quietly.

“Something came up on the way home last night. That’s why I was ten minutes late. I won’t make you wait that long again.”

I finished my toast and downed my milk in one go.

His gaze fell to the empty glass in my hand, something unreadable flickering across his face.

“I made plans with a friend today,” I said. “Just focus on your work.”

He looked like he wanted to say something.

Before he could, his assistant called again. And again.

After hanging up, he pulled me into his arms and brushed a light kiss across my lips.

“Alright,” he murmured. “I’ll make it up to you tonight—ten times over.”

After Damon left for work, I stood there in a daze.

His job required frequent business trips.

Every trip lasted at least a week, sometimes two.

I hated them.

On our first anniversary, one of the overseas branches ran into trouble.

Afraid I’d make a scene, Damon flew out without telling me first.

He didn’t text me until he had already checked into his hotel.

During that entire trip, I bombarded him with angry messages every few minutes.

Whenever we video-called at night, I’d be crying, yelling, going off on him.

A week later, he finally came home.

I refused to let him into our bedroom.

He knocked gently.

“Baby,” he said through the door, his voice warm and patient.

“I shouldn’t have kept it from you, but it was an emergency. Let me in, okay?”

I buried myself under the blanket and ignored him.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door opened anyway.

Damon walked over, peeled the blanket off me, and lifted me onto his lap.

His face was stern as he leaned in and bit my lip playfully.

“That was way too long without a kiss,” he said. His eyes stayed on mine.

“How about we make up for it with ten?”

Then he leaned back, bracing himself with both hands behind him as if he were ready to let me vent all my frustration.

I didn’t hold back.

By the time I was done, I’d left bite marks all over him.

Later, though, his expression grew darker. His breathing turned uneven.

He abruptly called a halt and headed straight for the bathroom.

Back then, I was too caught up to notice anything unusual.

Looking back now, maybe that was when he started getting tired of me.