Cheryl
“Where does it hurt, baby?” His deep baritone had replayed in my head more than I cared to admit, drowning out the reality of my broken wrist now confined to a cast.
How was I supposed to deliver the launch speech like this? This is why you don’t drink overnight with your ‘older’ husband.
Though I doubt he even thinks of me as his wife. He once admitted that my age made the idea of our arranged marriage repulsive. At first, I didn’t care—it was mutual indifference. But now? I don’t know why it bothers me so much that he doesn’t see me as his wife.
“You look like a mess,” Mr. Han said, leaning against the wall, clearly drunk. His sharp eyes softened, his tone lighter than usual. “You’re hungover, swollen-eyed, and you need to sleep. Doctor says your wrist will heal; the break’s
