Chapter 3
The pain was what woke Lilibeth. The sharp sting of antiseptic hit her nose, and the harsh white glare of fluorescent lights overhead made her eyes burn.
She instinctively lifted a hand to shield them. However, the IV in the back of her hand tugged painfully, making her wince.
“You’re finally awake,” a nurse said.
She was in the middle of changing Lilibeth’s bandages. When she saw Lilibeth open her eyes, she let out a breath of relief before adding, “What kind of grudge does someone have to hold to go this far? They smashed two bottles on your head, and you needed over 30 stitches.”
Lilibeth reached up, her fingers grazing the gauze wrapped around her head. Her voice came out hoarse as she asked, “Where’s the person who brought me in?”
“You mean your best friend? She stayed with you all night but had to rush off this morning because of an emergency at work. She asked me to tell you she’s hired a caregiver to look after you.”
Lilibeth went still. So, Clifford wasn’t the one who had brought her here.
Where was he, then?
With that question lingering in her mind, she picked up her phone. As soon as her finger brushed the screen, a new Instagram notification popped up.
Tiffany’s caption read, “Cliff’s still got a way of getting through to me.”
The video showed her pouting and holding out her hand. In a coquettish voice, she whined, “Look! I cut my finger smashing that bottle!”
Then, the camera shifted to Clifford. He crouched before her, gently peeling open a bandage and wrapping it around her finger with care.
Seconds later, he lowered his head to press a soft kiss on it. “There. All better now,” he muttered in a husky voice.
Lilibeth stared at the screen. Suddenly, the pain in her head surged, and her fingers went numb. It was as if someone had torn open the wound and doused it with alcohol.
She took a deep breath to steady herself and then dialed 911.
“Hi, I’d like to report an assault.”
…
That night, Clifford pushed open the door to Lilibeth’s ward.
He wore a black jacket, and his expression was solemn, barely contained anger simmering behind his cold eyes.
“You called the cops? You reported Tiff for assault?” he questioned.
Lilibeth met his gaze. “I did. She attacked me. That’s a crime.”
Clifford’s expression darkened further upon hearing that. “I know it was wrong of her to do that, but I’ve already punished her. This should be over now,” he growled.
Lilibeth let out a cold laugh, then shot back, “Punished? Oh yeah? And how exactly did you punish her?”
“She has a wild streak. So, I’ve grounded her for the day. She’s not allowed to leave the villa.”
Lilibeth blinked in disbelief. A beat later, she burst into laughter—so hard that her stitches throbbed with every breath.
“I got over 30 stitches in my head, and all you did was ground her for one day?” She continued, “Clifford Sinclair, are you punishing her or protecting her? You’re just afraid I’ll go after her, aren’t you?”
His gaze darkened with something unreadable. “What nonsense are you spouting? Of course, it’s a punishment. Also, I’ve already withdrawn the report. Don’t waste time going to other stations. No one in Jolsville is going to take the case.”
Lilibeth’s hands balled into fists, gripping the sheets so tightly that her nails dug into her palms.
There were so many things she wanted to say. But in the end, only two questions made it out.
“Clifford, I pursued you for six years. What am I to you, really? If you never cared, why did you marry me?”
Clifford’s frown deepened at her words. “Who says I don’t care?”
After a pause, he added, “This ends here. I’ll stay at the hospital for a few days to take care of you. Once you’re discharged, I’ll make it up to you. But stop making a scene.”
He made it sound like the offer was some kind of gift.
Lilibeth almost laughed again. Of course.
She was the one who had pursued him. She confessed her feelings, begged for a relationship, and pleaded with him to sleep with her. Clifford had never once come to her willingly.
Now that he had agreed to stay by her side, she was supposed to be grateful.
