All Chapters of I AGREED TO MY HUSBAND'S OPEN MARRIAGE RULES: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

STACY'S POVThe front door clicked shut, a final, hollow sound. I walked straight into the house, my feet moving on their own. I didn’t look at Michael. I didn’t say a word. The silence felt heavy, suffocating. I just want to disappear. I headed for the bedroom, the only place I could hide.The room was dim, the curtains half-closed. I stood by the window, staring at the empty street where their car had been. My cheek still throbbed, a dull reminder. The shame was worse. They came here. They threatened me. They embarrassed me. And Michael saw it all.I heard his footsteps behind me. They were quiet, but I felt them. The door didn’t close. He came in.His hand grabbed my arm, not rough, but firm. He turned me to face him. His eyes were dark, searching. “Stacy,” he said. “What’s going on with you?”I looked down, unable to meet his gaze. “Nothing.”“Bullshit.” His voice was low, intense. “You’re shutting down. You’re hiding. After they left, you walked away like you were carrying the wh

MIACHEL'S POVThe silence after she asked where I’d come from stretched for a beat too long. I felt awkward. A weird, childish awkwardness. Because I hadn’t come from anywhere. I’d been here. Hiding.Well, not hiding exactly. More like… observing. I’d told my cousin not to tell Fifi—David, my assistant—anything. I wanted to see if she’d call. If she’d get worried. She made up her story, cried it out to the empty room, and I’d been listening from the study just down the hall. I’d even gone out to get some drinks earlier, but I’d been drinking in that same study, the bottle hidden in the cabinet. I’d pretended not to know she was panicking. Now she was hugging me, her face against my chest, and she could probably smell it. There was indeed alcohol on me. A faint scent of whiskey clung to my sweater.She looked up, her eyes searching. “You’re… dry. You weren’t out in the rain.”“I just came back,” I said, keeping my voice even. It was a lie, but a necessary one. A test. I needed to know.

STACY'S POVThe ache in my muscles from last night’s tension was still there, a dull reminder, but I pushed it aside. I had work to do. Real work. Before I even showered, I sent a message to a discreet contact I’d cultivated over the years—a man who knew how to watch without being seen. Watch Helen and George. Every move. Every meeting. Report to me directly. They’d come here with demands, which meant they were desperate. Desperate people are predictable. They’d contact whoever was behind them. I needed to see that face.It wasn’t just about defense anymore. It was about punishment. They’d sold me. Neglected me. Now they wanted to leech off my success. They needed to pay for that. And this… this was my chance to find out the truth. The papers said I was their daughter. But the feeling in my gut, the cold absence of any real bond… maybe they weren’t my real family at all. Maybe I had no family. The thought hurt, but it also freed me. If they weren’t blood, then their claims held even le

STACY'S POVThe silence in my office after security took them away was heavy, but it wasn’t peaceful. My mind was racing, tripping over the same jagged thought. Those people are not my parents. The words echoed, cold and final. It wasn't a guess anymore. It was a fact, sitting in my gut like a stone. They’d sold me. Locked me away. That wasn’t love. That wasn’t family. It was… a transaction. I must have been taken. Abducted. Or something else I couldn’t even picture.My hands were flat on the desk, palms cool against the wood. I needed to know. I have to find out who I really am. A private investigator. That was the answer. But which one? The city had hundreds. How do you even pick a good one? Do you just call and hope? I didn’t have connections in that world. My world was design, business, Michael. Not shadowy people who dig up stolen pasts.My phone was still on the desk, the recording saved. I picked it up, my fingers trembling slightly. I scrolled through contacts. Henry’s name wa

STACY'S POVThe silence in my own house was a different kind of loud. For days, it was just me and Millie. We fell into a rhythm, a quiet, wounded one. I went to work. I came home. I took her to the pastry shop, watching her lick frosting from her tiny fingers, and my heart would ache for the family breakfasts we used to have. The ones that felt whole.Michael wanted to see Millie. Of course he did. So I’d bundle her up, drive to the park, and sit on a bench far away while he pushed her on the swings. I never looked at him. Not directly. I kept my sunglasses on, my gaze on a tree, a bird, anything else. If I looked, I might falter. I might see the hurt in his eyes and run to him. And I couldn’t. He needed to learn.You don’t get to monitor me like a project, I thought, the mantra playing on a loop. You don’t get to hack my life and call it love.But god, being apart from him broke me. Every night, the bed was too big, too cold. I dreamed of his hands, his smell, the low rumble of his