MY EX-HUSBAND'S OBSESSION

Eat fried food

He kissed upward gently.

"Did you go out today and not buy anything? Are you upset with me?" Marion always had this habit of swiftly changing topics. Clara, in a highly tense state, had to pay attention to both his actions and every word he uttered.

"No, I'm not upset with you, sir. I did buy things; those building blocks are all bought by me."

Marion responded with a soft "Oh." "Not upset, then. Does Clara also like the way it was that day? How about I bring Taizi and Kaslo to watch next time? What do you think?"

Marion wasn't particularly fond of Kaslo, just a dog they had picked up. He wasn't interested in naming the dog, so it was simply called Kaslo.

"No..." Clara pleaded softly, "Sir, I'm afraid of dogs."

"I know."

Marion kissed her cheek, his tone unkind, "I enjoy seeing you scared."

"Do you fear me?"

Clara was on the verge of tears, and she remained silent.

"Clara." Marion's right hand clasped her slender neck, tightened it several times, then gently released. He chuckled softly, "Let me ask you again: are you afraid of me?"

"Fear." Clara's tears finally fell.

It seemed that this crying pleased Marion; he leaned back against the bed, wiping away Clara's tears. "So, do you fear me or miss me?"

Clara was nearly on the brink of collapse with Marion's constant teasing. Conversing with Marion, a person like walking on thin ice, afraid of saying the wrong word. Everyone knew what the consequences were for displeasing Marion, and Clara was particularly aware. Therefore, he had to weigh every word carefully. Yet, Marion seemed to enjoy teasing her repeatedly.

No matter what she answered, Marion always had a way of making things difficult for her.

Marion loved the feeling of having control over others' lives. A person entirely dependent on him, displaying such vulnerability and fragility, excited him greatly.

"Why are you crying like this? If your eyes get swollen, you won't be able to see Madam tomorrow. Be good, stop crying."

Marion wanted to see her cry, and so she did, but now that Marion had lost interest, she had to stop. Any longer, and Marion would become annoyed.

After quickly regaining her composure, Marion's mood improved. He affectionately hugged Clara around the waist and enthusiastically added a few more building blocks.

"I heard from Den say you picked out a gift for me?"

"Yes, I asked Den to bring it over."

Marion tightened his hold on Clara's hand. "No need, we'll look at it tonight." After adding a few more blocks, there was a knock on the door. Den was outside, saying, "Sir, Madam, dinner is ready."

Marion put down the small pieces, got up, and let go of Clara. Clara, now freed, hurriedly fastened her collar button. Marion and Den could be heard talking, "Go and tidy up the room."

This indicated that Marion would be sleeping here tonight. Clara followed him out, head lowered.

The man raised his long legs, and the luxurious redwood-carved staircase echoed with his slow footsteps. A servant was carrying things upstairs, presumably to clean his room. She bowed slightly, "Sir."

Marion paused and suddenly pulled Clara behind him, his arm around her waist.

"Why are you walking behind me?"

The servant quickly lowered her head and called again, "Madam."

Clara nodded to her, her face slightly flushed.

The servants prepared dinner downstairs.

Any meal with Marion was always exquisite and formal. On the long, narrow dining table, one dish after another was uncovered. The tabletop's intricate patterns resembled ink drawings. In the center was a V-shaped walnut wooden frame, cradling a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

The servants courteously bowed, taking away the water and handkerchiefs for the lord and lady. "Sir, madam, please enjoy."

Marion rolled up his sleeves and leisurely sliced a piece of meat.

Clara sat beside him, quietly eating the dish on her right. The only dish on the entire table she could barely stomach was the shrimp. She never really enjoyed these kinds of dishes. When she was at home, she usually instructed Den to prepare spicy food. Ingredients that were too raw, salty, or fishy would make him nauseous.

Chewing on the shrimp without much appetite, Clara slowed down.

"Aren't you hungry?"

Marion didn't even look up, but Clara was startled nonetheless.

"No."

"What did you eat before the meal?"

Marion's expression remained unchanged, but Clara's scalp tingled. She confessed, "A bag of potato chips and two pieces of cake."

"Quite a bit." Marion commented in a low tone. However, the next moment, his tone changed. His voice was low, but every word pierced Clara's heart. "Den, dispose of all the trash in madam's room. Don't let me see it again."

Clara's heart tensed up.

Before she could explain, Marion cut a piece of meat onto Clara's plate.

"Eat."

Clara froze; she could sense that Marion's mood wasn't quite right.

Afraid to say anything, Clara forced herself to eat it, despite her queasiness.

"Is it good?"

Clara was on the verge of tears due to discomfort. Se had to pinch her palm hard with the hand that wasn't holding the fork to keep from throwing up.

"Delicious," she whispered, her voice trembling and disordered.

Marion then picked up something and offered it to Clara – a sliced Lyon liver sausage.

"Try it."

Clara licked her dry lower lip. "Sir..."

Marion lightly pinched the wine glass, slowly running his finger around the rim. Then, with a crisp "clink," the glass touched the marble tabletop, making a restrained, crisp sound.

That was the breaking point for Clara. She picked up the sausage and put it in her mouth, swallowing after just a few bites. Her throat hurt as she choked it down, and she almost retched.

She dug her nails into her palm, beads of cold sweat forming on her forehead, rolling down her fair temples and into her eyes, like scalding tears.

The sporadic bits of affection that Marion bestowed upon her when she was in a good mood, Clara could only take them as jokes. The phrase "overly spoiled" was even more laughable than a joke. Clara could never fathom Marion's thoughts, so she had to forever be cautious, like walking on a tightrope.

Marion observed the tears on Clara's cheeks and chuckled softly. "Eating a meal, and you're crying again? You're such a pitiful baby."

He picked up a handkerchief and gently wiped his hands.

At this moment, Secretary entered from outside and whispered something to Marion. Marion's hands didn't stop moving; he just casually ordered, "Take him to the garden; I'll be there in a moment."

"Yes, sir."

After Secretary left, Marion finished wiping his hands. He ruffled Clara's hair and lightly pecked her hot earlobe, whispering, "Finish your meal, go upstairs for a bath, and wait for me."

In the garden.

A middle-aged man knelt on the lawn with a towel covering his head and face. What was once pristine white had long been dyed a vivid red, exuding a nauseating scent of rust and dampness.

Marion sat on a rattan armchair, crossing his long legs. Secretary stood behind him.

This place had also been visited by Secretary during the day. It was where Clara often sunned herself and took classes, but now it looked entirely different.

Marion held a cigarette between his fingers, leisurely petting the Prince, who was lying at his feet. He seemed to be patient in his playfulness.