After Amnesia, My Husband Went Crazy

Chapter 2 f*****g Handsome

He was, undeniably, f*****g handsome. Chiseled features, intense, mesmerizing eyes, a straight nose, and those thin lips with that sharp cupid's bow.

He wasn't just handsome—he had this refined, almost aristocratic air about him. With a face like that, he'd be insanely famous if he were a celebrity.

And to top it off, his body didn't disappoint either: 6'1'', broad shoulders, narrow waist—the kind of physique that looked like it was sculpted by a master artist. He seemed almost unreal like he'd stepped right out of a painting.

This was the kind of guy who could make you fall head over heels at first sight, who could make you obsessed.

My heart sped up, pounding a little too fast for my liking. This man checked all my boxes, and then some. But then, I caught that cold, scrutinizing look in his eyes, like he was sizing me up and finding me lacking.

It was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head, yanking me back to reality. What good were looks if he clearly didn't give a damn about me?

Still, with a face like that staring me down, I couldn't bring myself to throw any harsh words his way. Instead, ignoring his nasty attitude, I kept my voice calm. "Calling changing clothes a 'pathetic trick'? Maybe you just haven't seen enough of the world."

He paused, his brows pulling together, and then he started moving toward me. "Throwing a fit, are we? I just took Sybil to the hospital. If it weren't for you ordering her company to make her life hell, she wouldn't have collapsed from overwork and a damn fever. What right do you have to be pissed?"

His words cut through me, sharp and painful, and I was shocked by how much they actually hurt. I didn't even remember being in love with this man, but there was this sense that, once upon a time, I must have loved him deeply.

But aside from that sting of pain, all I felt now was pure anger. Ditching his bride at their wedding to rush some other woman to the hospital, practically announcing to the world that his actual wife didn't mean a damn thing compared to Sybil—wasn't it my right to be pissed off?

Still, considering that this Sybil had apparently been targeted before, I figured in the past I had already made some moves against her, so it was none of my business now.

I didn't want to waste another word on him. I snorted. "Fine, whatever. I'm going to bed. I'm exhausted."

My indifference only made his eyes darken even more.

I zipped up my dress, yawned, and prepared to crash. After being dragged out of the water and dealing with all this crap, I was dead tired.

As I moved to walk past him, he grabbed my arm. "Switching tactics now? Playing hard to get? Let me warn you, Willa, I'm not falling for it. I'm exhausted, and I don't have time for your games."

Unbelievable. What games was he even talking about?

I'd tried to end my life, and he hadn't shown a shred of concern, making it clear I didn't mean s**t to him. I was just the unlucky side character in his and Sybil's epic love story.

I had some damn self-respect! Who in their right mind would willingly sign up for this s**t?

To avoid any more drama or awkward run-ins with this guy, I explained patiently, "Relax. I'm not about to play games with you. The way you ditched me at our wedding makes it pretty clear—you're not the type to feel sorry for me just because I tried to off myself. Since you're so repulsed by me, why would I bother holding you back and making my own life hell? From now on, whether you wanna take your little sweetheart to the hospital or straight to a hotel, I'm not getting in the way."

My blunt honesty seemed to knock the wind out of Gresham. He let go of my arm, totally caught off guard.

Seeing him finally shut up and let go, I rolled my eyes and flopped onto the bed, desperate to get some rest. My mind was a damn mess.

What kind of twisted trauma had I gone through to get this obsessed? Clearly, I was just a pawn in Gresham and Sybil's twisted love story, and here I was, shoving myself into the middle, only to be stomped on.

No way. This s**t had to stop. I needed to find a way to cut things off cleanly, secure my assets, and get the hell out of this marriage.

As I was mentally listing all the ways to protect my stuff, I suddenly felt warmth behind me. Gresham's tall, solid frame pressed against my back, radiating heat. His hand slid down to my waist, sending a shiver down my spine, before slipping under my shirt.

I froze. Shocked, I whipped around, staring right into Gresham's intense eyes.

Before I could even process what was happening, he leaned in, his breath warm against my skin, lips almost brushing mine.

Just as he was about to kiss me, I shoved my hand up against his chin. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

What the actual hell was going on?! Wasn't this man supposed to be disgusted by me? Now he was all over me?

Gresham's lips curled into a sly, mocking smile. He grabbed my hand, pinning me beneath him. "Isn't this what you've always wanted?"

He pressed down harder, his cool fingers trailing lightly over my chest. Even though I had no memory of ever wanting him, my body betrayed me, heating up under his touch. This strange, dizzying sensation made my heart race.

"Don't touch me!" Mortified, I shoved him away as hard as I could.

He stumbled back, surprise flashing in his eyes before his expression hardened, his impatience obvious. "I told you, Willa, stop throwing a tantrum."

The way he said it, like I was some annoying speck of dust he couldn't shake off, made me seethe.

The tingling from his touch hadn't fully faded, but now it only fueled my resentment, his handsome face somehow losing all its appeal in my mind.

I shouted, "I just tried to kill myself, and since you got back, all you've done is accuse me of acting out, like I'm some child, without a shred of concern or explanation! And now you're doing this? What gives you the right to treat someone like this? Just because you're the asshole husband who couldn't even bother showing up at his own wedding?!"

My anger was simmering just below the surface, ready to explode. But every word I spat at him only seemed to make Gresham colder. His grip tightened around my wrists, pinning them to the bed, his gaze turning dark and unreadable.

He leaned down, his breath hot on my face as he whispered, voice cutting and frigid. "Isn't this what you wanted?"