All Chapters of Married To A Sex Freak : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The reverberations of his thunderous voice lingered, hanging in the air like dust motes in the candlelight. Then, the sound of his departure—a few heavy, fast-approaching footsteps that ended with a door slamming upstairs. The impact was a jarring physical blow that I felt deep in my bones. Just looking as if Bryan heard that he was called, without uttering any word, and without any sound given, he quickly ran upstairs for no reason, following his boss. I remained seated, a statue of utter defeat, wishing with a desperate, childish longing that the entire evening was nothing more than a fever dream. But the sharp, agonizing humiliation was too visceral, too real to dismiss.The words—"That was your damn portion! And now, as a foolish eater, you already stuffed it all in one go!"—echoed with deafening clarity. They were not just a criticism of my appetite; they were a cruel verdict on my worth. The man who had claimed me as his wife was now my most potent enemy that doesn't even mine

“What’s happening here?”The voice was a ragged, high-pitched gasp, barely recognizable as Mary’s. The sound came from the foot of the stairs, still two steps shy of the landing. She must have been running, her anxiety propelling her up the long, polished flight. “I heard a very loud clatter and… and it scared me,” she explained, her breath coming in wheezing puffs. The sound she referred to was the loud, heavy tingle of the cuffs hitting the tiled floor, which had been loud enough to travel through the whole mansion and summon a witness.Unexpectedly, Collins instantly dropped his guard, making the whip drop from his hand. The rage on his face was replaced by a look of tight, incandescent fury, but laced with a clear aversion to exposure. He took a hasty step back, distancing himself from me and the abandoned instruments of punishment. His breathing was fast and shallow, his gaze fixed on me, the veins on his neck visibly corded, his eyes blazing red with frustrated malice.“You!” h

The laughter I had just heard was familiar. It was a sound that tugged at a deep, old wound—it sounded unnervingly like my late mother's voice. The date, then, slammed into me with the force of a physical blow: today was her birthday. I imagined my father, alone in his own house, undoubtedly wailing as he always did on this anniversary of loss.I remembered being nine years old, small and tearful. She would gently brush her soft hands through my hair, her touch a balm. "Man up and stop crying like a boy," she’d always tease me, a playful challenge masked by affection. I remembered the heavenly, sweet taste of her cookies, a memory so potent it made me salivate even now. The ritual of getting me ready for school—the crisp uniform, the gentle pressure—is always capped with a bribe of candy and cookies just to get me out the door."But all these are gone now." I scoffed, the sound rough and choked, cutting off the beautiful, painful scenarios that had been snatched away by death when I

I felt my body caught in that extraordinary contradiction: shaking from fear, anger, and the risk I had just taken, but infused with a profound sense of having done something fine, something ultimately righteous. The sheer relief of defying Collins and asserting my will felt like the best decision I had ever made—a decision I now had to uphold at all costs.I took a shuddering breath, the cool, sterile air stinging my lungs. I held Mary's hand and squeezed it a little tighter, forcing myself to be the steady one, the protector. I had to think past the simple problem of money. Collins controlled the bank accounts, the cards, the very flow of currency in this house. My rebellion needed not just conviction, but a tactical strategy. I needed a secret source, a clandestine means of acquiring the funds required for a grandmother's surgery, for a maid's salary, and for my own freedom.The kitchen was silent again, waiting. My battle had shifted from a verbal confrontation with my husband t

My eyes fluttered open, not to the slow, gentle creep of morning, but to an insistent, sharp blade of sunlight that sliced through a gap in the heavy curtains. A low, thick groan of residual pain from the night's wine and stress rumbled in my throat.The first thing I noticed, with a sudden, electric jolt, was the emptiness. The other side of the bed was cold. His weight, his presence, his oppressive energy—gone.“He’s gone,” I whispered to the empty room, the words tasting like victory.A profound, full-body release swept through me, as if a physical weight had been lifted from my chest. I sat bolt upright, the air in the room suddenly feeling lighter, cleaner. I yawned, a massive, jaw-cracking stretch, pushing my arms toward the ceiling so hard my muscles trembled. I was consciously, deliberately, waking my body up, shaking off the paralysis of the night before.“Alright, body, listen up,” I murmured, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Today is the day. We are moving.”Thou