The Villainess Read The Comments Chapter 03

The Villainess Read The Comments Chapter 03

Before all this, whenever I came home and saw Arthur, I’d launch myself at him. If he wouldn’t let me hug him, I’d smack his arm — just a tiny swat, purely on principle.

That was usually when he’d give in — scoop me up bridal-style without a word, carry me to bed, and bring over a bottle of massage oil to rub my feet.

Oh my God. I’d actually done that to him. No wonder Arthur wanted me gone.

Arthur set the oil down and held out his hand. I wasn’t wearing my glasses — his expression blurred into nothing — but even without seeing his eyes, my nerves still spiked.

So I reached out and… shook his hand. Politely. Like we’d just closed a business deal. Maybe that meant we were good? Arthur let out a slow breath and closed his eyes.

“Chloe, you’re acting strange. You’re the one who asks for this every night — so what’s going on? Are you playing games with me? Is this some kind of joke? Did I do something wrong?”

I couldn’t remember the last time Arthur had said so many words at once. I was used to reading his eyes — guessing what he meant from a look, a frown, the smallest shift in his face. And now he was actually opening up… Maybe I could just—

[She’s definitely playing hard to get. She used to LOVE getting foot rubs from the ML — she even posted about it, saying she had the best husband. Now he’s losing his patience.]

[If she says yes, the ML will know for sure she’s playing games. Once the FL shows up, this side character is toast.]

The comments snapped me right out of it. I pulled my foot back before it could reach his hands.

God, he was unfairly beautiful — even this close, his skin was flawless, like he was carved from marble.

I stared for a beat too long, and my stupid heart gave another flutter. No. No, Chloe Thorne. Have some self-respect.

I snapped myself out of it, looked at Arthur, and forced on the most painfully polite smile of my life.

“You know what, you really don’t have to rub my feet anymore. I think — I think we need boundaries. Even if we really do get married someday, I should respect your space. I can take care of myself.”

That was the most mature thing I’d ever said in my entire life. And I meant every word — I was getting out. Losing a husband was one thing. Dying in the street was another.

“Are you still mad? Because I went out yesterday without telling you?”

He’d let the question hang in the air for a long time, just watching me. When I didn’t answer, he turned and walked away.

“What was that even about?”

I furrowed my brow. Had I ever asked him to check in with me? I didn’t think so.

What a strange man.