All Chapters of I AGREED TO MY HUSBAND'S OPEN MARRIAGE RULES: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Michael's POVThe sting on my cheek was sharp and sudden. She slapped me. For a second, I just stared at her, the taste of her still on my lips, the warmth of her skin still burning into mine. Then the shock melted away, replaced by cold amusement. She was putting on a show. A good one.I touched my fingers to the burning skin. "My apologies," I said, my voice smooth, hiding the anger tightening in my chest. I took a step back, giving her space she didn't deserve. "That was... out of line. You just... you look so much like someone I used to know."Her chest heaved, those soft curves straining against the tight fabric of her suit. Her eyes were wide, but not with fear. With practiced, icy disdain. "I have no idea who you think I am, Mr. Sotheby, but I am not her. You can't just... assault potential business partners."I let a slow smile spread across my face. Oh, so we're playing this game. "Assault is a strong word for a mistaken kiss. A... passionate error." I gestured to the expensiv

Stacy's POVThe panic lived under my skin all day, buzzing and sharp. After picking Millie up from school, I couldn't stop seeing it—Michael's face outside the fence, his wave, his predatory smile aimed at my child. My sweet, trusting girl.As soon as we got home, I knelt in front of her, my hands gripping her small shoulders a little too tight. "Millie, baby, look at me."She blinked up at me, her blue eyes—so like his—wide and innocent."The man from today. The one who gave you the flower. You are never to talk to him again. Do you understand me? Never."Her lower lip wobbled. "But Mommy, he was nice. He said my cookies were good.""He is not nice," I said, my voice cracking. I pulled her close, my heart beating frantically. "He is a very bad man. If you see him, you run. You find a teacher, or Aunt Mira, or me. You scream. He wants to take you away from me. Forever."The tears came then, hot and fast. She buried her face in my neck. "I don't wanna go away! I promise, Mommy. I won't

Michael's POVI walked out of the villa and climbed into the car waiting in the driveway. As the engine started, I looked back at the grand entrance. I could picture Stacy inside, probably collapsed on the floor, crying. Probably screaming my name.Guilt twisted in my chest, sharp and unwelcome.She's desperate. She's terrified. You took her child.But the anger was stronger than the guilt. She lied to me. After everything—after running away, after hiding for three years, after building a whole new life under a fake name—she lied to my face about our daughter.Our daughter.The paternity test proved it. 99.98%. Millie was mine. That little girl with the storm-blue eyes and jet-black hair. That serious, sweet child who had looked at me with such innocent trust in the pastry shop.Mine.Stacy had kept her from me. For three years, she'd raised my daughter alone, poisoning her mind against me, telling her I was a "bad man."The fury burned hot and cold at the same time. But underneath it

Stacy's POVI knew saying I hated him wouldn't stop him. I knew it would probably make things worse. But I was too angry to care. Too furious to think straight."I hate you," I repeated, my voice shaking. "I hate what you've done. I hate—"He didn't let me finish. His hand shot up to the back of my neck, pulling me toward him. His mouth crashed down on mine so hard I couldn't breathe. It wasn't a kiss—it was a claiming. A punishment. His lips crushed mine with bruising force, his tongue invading my mouth before I could even think to resist.I made a muffled sound of protest, my hands pushing against his chest. But he was solid as stone, unmovable. His other arm wrapped around my waist, pressing me against him so tightly I could feel every hard plane of his body.Can't breathe. Can't think.His kiss was stealing everything—my air, my thoughts, my ability to fight. My head spun. My knees went weak. I was drowning in him, in the taste of coffee and mint, in the overwhelming sensation of

Michael's POVI stood in the shadows of the hallway, watching.The door to the little girl's room was open just a crack. Soft yellow light spilled out. I could hear Stacy's voice, low and soothing, telling a bedtime story. Millie's soft questions. The rustle of covers. A mother's nighttime ritual.My chest felt tight.I hadn't gone in. It didn't feel right. Not yet. But watching her... watching them... it did something to me. A strange, painful warmth spread through my chest. She was so gentle with our child. The same hands that had slapped me twice today were now smoothing back curly hair, tucking in a stuffed rabbit.She's a good mother.The thought cut deep. Because it meant all of this—the lies, the running—came from a place of protection. Not cruelty. She was trying to protect our daughter. From me? From the world? From her own past?I leaned against the wall, the cool surface pressing through my shirt. The scent of her floral perfume still hung in the air from our fight earlier.