OOPS, MY BODYGUARD HUSBAND IS A BILLIONAIRE

Chapter 3

Michael walked over to the bed, gently placing Hazel down, before turning and walking out without a word.

Hazel opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. She wasn't sure how to interact with him—he was a stranger in her life, a man who now held the title of her husband, yet she knew so little about him.

Michael had been working for the Martinez Family as a bodyguard for only half a year. His cold demeanor made him almost invisible to others. He rarely spoke, and when he did, his voice was a sharp contrast to the warmth and familiarity others expected. Rumors floated about his past—his family was poor, drowning in debt. Coming to the Martinez Family had been his way out, his chance to start anew.

Though the women in the office were mesmerized by his striking features, his indifference to their flirtations only heightened his allure. He was untouchable. He ignored everyone, including Hazel. Their brief encounters in the manor had been silent, his gaze distant, as if she were just another face in a crowd. He passed by without a word, his coldness cutting through her, leaving her with a sense of isolation. Now, to be married to him—Hazel didn’t know how to navigate this strange, new reality.

The room was simple, clean, and yet, it held an unfamiliar warmth. Red "*" decorations adorned the windows, signaling the union, while the bed was neatly made with new sheets featuring peonies and carp—traditional and old-fashioned, but there was an effort in every detail. Hazel felt a pang of guilt in her chest. Had Michael prepared all of this for their wedding night? And yet, she had left him for her ex-boyfriend. She had caused him to lose his job, and for what?

But Michael hadn't said a word of reproach. He simply let it pass, as if it meant nothing to him.

Before she could gather her thoughts, the door creaked open, and Michael walked in. His hair was damp from a recent shower, the water droplets trailing down his muscular arms. He wore simple, black trousers—modest, yet they did little to hide his chiseled physique. His face, cold and unreadable, exuded a quiet intensity. Hazel’s breath caught in her throat. He was a stunning man, but his presence felt like a storm—too overwhelming, too distant.

She quickly averted her gaze and lowered her head. What was she supposed to say? How could she make this right?

“I'm sorry for what happened just now,” she whispered, the words feeling inadequate in the heavy silence between them.

Michael didn’t respond immediately. He picked up a towel and began drying his hair. Hazel took a step toward him, but her eyes fell on his hand—the blood staining his palm. The wound was deep, a jagged cut running across his skin. Her breath hitched, and her stomach churned as memories of the violence earlier—of Michael slamming Ryan's head against the table—flooded her mind.

Without thinking, Hazel rushed to his side. “Let me help,” she said, but Michael abruptly raised his hand, stopping her before she could touch him.

“Don’t touch it,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth.

Hazel froze, her outstretched hand hovering in the air. She nodded quickly, her throat tight with discomfort. The distance between them was palpable, the coldness in his words like a physical barrier she couldn’t cross.

“You must be hungry,” Hazel offered hesitantly. “I can make you some noodles. I’m a good cook.”

“No need,” he replied, his voice flat.

She stood there, unsure of what to say next. “I went to see Ryan because—”

“Miss there’s no need to explain yourself to me,” Michael interrupted, his tone harder now, as if he resented even the mention of her actions.

Hazel’s chest tightened at his words. The way he referred to her—"Miss"—felt like an insult, a deliberate attempt to remind her of the distance between them. She was his wife in name only. To him, she was just another woman, one who had no place in his life.

“I didn’t—” Hazel began, but Michael cut her off again, his eyes darkening with an unreadable emotion.

“Do you think I’m inferior to your ex-boyfriend?” His words were sharp, laced with a bitterness that made Hazel flinch.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head, “nothing happened between me and Ryan.”

Michael didn’t seem convinced. “Really?” He raised an eyebrow, skepticism heavy in his voice. “How do you expect me to believe that?”

Hazel clenched her fists, biting her lip. She had made a mistake, she knew that. She had left him for another man. But she needed to make this clear. She couldn’t let this lie fester between them.

“I’m not... I didn’t... I didn’t betray you.” The words were barely a whisper, but she pressed on, “Please, Michael... believe me.”

Michael’s gaze softened for a moment, his eyes flickering with something—something Hazel couldn’t place. Then, he leaned back and crossed his arms, his posture imposing. “Miss,” he said, his voice hardening again, “if you truly feel that way, then divorce me. It’ll be easy. I’ll sign.”

Hazel’s heart sank. She shook her head, desperate. “No, I never wanted that. I just...” She struggled to find the right words, but they failed her.

“Just what?” Michael’s voice was cold now, but there was a trace of something deeper beneath the surface.

Hazel took a deep breath, her eyes locking with his. She needed him to understand. She couldn’t leave this unspoken between them.

“I’m still clean,” she said, her voice barely audible.

For a moment, Michael was silent, his eyes narrowing as they scanned her face. Then he lifted his gaze, his expression unreadable.

“What exactly do you want to say?” His voice was indifferent, but his eyes held something else—a flicker of curiosity, of disbelief.

Hazel gathered every ounce of courage she had left. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t...”

She stepped closer, slowly, her wedding dress rustling around her. Her hands trembling, she met his gaze head-on. She wasn’t backing down.

Michael froze. His eyes narrowed, and for the first time, she saw something shift in them. His gaze softened ever so slightly, but then he sneered, his lips curling into a mocking smile.

“You really think I care?” he said, his voice low, his words cutting. “Do you think I’m some fool?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she repeated, her voice gaining strength.

Michael remained silent for a long moment, studying her. The air between them crackled with tension.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t need you to prove anything to me.”

And with that, he turned away, his cold back a final barrier between them.

Hazel stood there, feeling the weight of his indifference, her heart pounding in her chest. He had let her speak. But in the end, he hadn’t heard her at all.

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