CHAPTER 30: CHAPTER 30: JULIAN FORDHAM’S HUMBLE PLEA FOR FORGIVENESS—HONEY, I WAS WRONG

Under the dim light, the shadow cast by Julian Fordham enveloped Victoria Monroe from top to bottom.

His brooding gaze was intensely aggressive, his whole body exuded a sharp aura, like a drawn sword, forcefully and dominantly surveying every part of Victoria Monroe’s body.

The passionate kiss in the bathroom made the small woman’s temperature rise, her cheeks covered in a fine layer of sweat, sticky strands of hair clinging to the side of her face.

Her cheeks were flushed, those glittering eyes filled with a tinge of unresolved fear, her rosy lips slightly parted: "Julian Fordham, don’t be like this."

A pair of small hands pressed against his chest, as ineffective as a mantis trying to stop a chariot.

The difference in their physical stature was too obvious, after all, he was her husband.

She couldn’t take things with him to a point of no return, she could only try to use words to force him to stop.

"Let’s part on good terms, behaving like this will only make me hate you more, do you really want to reach a point of no redemption?"

The man bent down, his large palm gently rested on the side of her face, his eyes filled with unabashed madness and a naked desire for her.

"Victoria, accepting your departure, that would be the real point of no redemption."

His fingers traced her smooth cheek, finally pinching her small chin, and his lips heavily descended upon hers.

Hot breath whispered against her lips: "Victoria, even in death, you can only be my woman."

Victoria Monroe was terribly nervous, she desperately wanted to push him away.

The man’s body remained immovable, like an army crushing her pitiful and fragile defenses with ease.

Most of the time, he treated her like a fragile porcelain, her skin was so tender, a little force would leave bruised marks.

He pampered her, indulged her.

But now, it seemed he had lost patience with her, or perhaps the darkness in his heart was forced to the surface by Dominic Scott’s appearance.

He didn’t want to speak of gentlemanly behavior or restraint.

"Victoria, Victoria..."

Until his lips touched a hint of warm moisture, his rationality returned, and he saw a tear slip down the corner of her eye, then disappear into her thick hair.

That tear seemed to fall into his heart, leaving him at a loss as to how to wipe away Victoria Monroe’s tears.

"Don’t cry, my wife, I was wrong, I was really wrong."

He held her tightly in his arms, repeatedly repenting.

"I won’t touch you anymore, please don’t cry, if you’re upset, hit me a couple of times, or even stab me twice if you want."

As soon as Victoria Monroe started crying, he was at his wits’ end, had to abandon all defenses.

Such a strong person, her tears hadn’t stopped recently.

Victoria Monroe tightly clutched his shirt, nearly crying her heart out, her voice trembling as she asked him: "Julian Fordham, how did you become like this today?"

Julian Fordham’s palm cupped the back of her head, countless words came to his lips, but only one sentence remained: "I’m sorry."

The business world is a brutal arena that can’t see the light of day, so many companies go bankrupt every day, yet people still forge ahead, everyone thinking they can create miracles.

Which of those who survive is a naive fool with pure methods? When he first entered the circle, he was deceived out of everything, forced to sulk in the ruins of a warehouse.

That lesson taught him to be ruthless and spare no room for error.

But he actually used such methods on the woman he loved most.

Victoria Monroe pushed him away and got out of bed, "I don’t want your apologies, I want to be treated right."

"Victoria, where are you going?"

"Calm down, being in the same room with you makes me feel sick, don’t follow me!"

Julian Fordham’s leg, just about to chase after her, stopped because of her words, he could only watch helplessly as Victoria Monroe left, following shortly by the sound of a car engine in the garden.

She was gone.

Julian Fordham sat dejectedly on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, head hanging low, his hands fiercely clutching at his hair.

How did it come to this?

Not long ago, she was still in his arms acting coy, hugging his neck and saying she loved him the most.

But now, she said he made her sick.

Even though he had anticipated all possible outcomes before making this decision, he was still questioning himself, was he wrong?

Is a biological heir really that important?

If he hadn’t been so obsessed, none of today’s troubles would have happened.

But life is like chess, one wrong move leads to another, there’s no turning back.

Victoria Monroe stepped on the gas and drove the car to the seaside, the sea breeze blowing her long hair into a mess.

She was also asking herself, how did it turn out like this?

Clearly, until this very moment, they still loved each other deeply, yet that love had become a shackle binding them both.

She clutched at her heart, only feeling as if an invisible hand was squeezing it tightly.

It wasn’t Julian Fordham’s trifling with Rachel Hayes that hurt her, but that the clean and innocent young man seemed to be drifting further and further from her.

She felt as though she were in a fog, unable to see her lover’s face, or her own current state.

The ringing of her phone broke her train of thought, Victoria Monroe glanced at the caller ID, it was Rhys Hawthorne.

Rhys Hawthorne was a reasonable man, calling her so late must be something important.

Victoria Monroe hastily wiped away her tears, trying to make her voice as calm as possible.

"Hello." She thought she had disguised it well enough.

The other party immediately saw through her pretense, "You were crying?"

Victoria Monroe tried to respond lightly: "Is it that obvious? I just stubbed my toe on the coffee table, it hurts a bit."

The other party obviously didn’t believe her excuse, calmly exposing her lie, "Back then, even when you broke your bone, you didn’t cry."

The two of them spent nine months filming that movie, those nine months could be considered as living together day and night.

Victoria Monroe no longer pretended, her voice was deep, tinged with a heavy nasal tone, "Did you call just to ask if I was crying?"

"No, there’s something important I wanted to discuss with you, but I’ve changed my mind now."

"What is it?"

"Let’s meet and talk in detail."

A gust of wind blew across her face, icy cold on her tear-streaked visage, clearing her mind quite a bit, Victoria Monroe’s mood was low: "Sorry, I’m not in the best state right now to discuss cooperation, can we schedule another time later?"

The man’s domineering voice exploded in her ear: "Victoria Monroe, tell me where you are, or I’ll have to find you my way."

His way?

Victoria Monroe didn’t know what it was, but her subconscious told her it couldn’t be anything good.

"I heard the sound of waves, are you by the sea?" His voice carried not a trace of emotion, the pressure palpable even through the phone.

Perhaps his constant pressing was just out of fear she’d do something foolish, Victoria Monroe truthfully revealed her location.

She wasn’t that foolish, just a bit tired, not to the point of suicide.

"Stay there, don’t move." Rhys Hawthorne’s voice was stern, giving her no room to argue.

Victoria Monroe was flabbergasted, what was he going to do?

Soon, she heard the sound of rotor blades from the sky.

A helicopter crossed the heavens, coming from afar to stop above her.

He appeared in her world like a god.