Chapter 193

I had to admit power was quite the commodity. With just a few words from

Bryant, I realized I was well and truly trapped. If he wanted, he could have his

bodyguards form a literal wall around me, making it impossible for me to

leave.

Lips pursed, I decided to turn around, bypassing him with a cold demeanor,

and headed straight back to my room. And immediately, I locked the door

behind me.

So, he wanted to confine me there? Fine, let him. After all, I was just a loaf at

this point.

The Ferguson Mansion lacked nothing. It provided good food, fine wine, and

staff at beck and call. At most, I’d just wait out the cooling-off period for the

divorce, and I’d be free.

Our room remained untouched. The housekeepers knew Bryant disliked

anyone messing with his stuff, so their cleaning was limited to dusting and

mopping.

Nothing was ever moved. My slippers, skincare stuff, books by the bed, hair

ties, everything was just where I left them.

Home Categories  Search…

  193/193



However, the other half of the bed, Bryant’s side, bore the signs of recent use.

I was surprised. He stayed in this room and hadn’t erased any trace of my

existence there.

Knock. Not long after I had finished showering, there was a knock on the

door. I didn’t move an inch, not wanting to engage.

Soon, Gary’s voice came through. “Mrs. Ferguson.”

That got me up and heading for the door. “What is it?”

Given Gary’s unexpected betrayal, my tone was less than warm.

Gary didn’t seem to mind and started awkwardly, “The housekeepers found

Mr. Ferguson’s clothes soaked in blood. I just checked on him, and his wound

is still bleeding. He refuses to see a doctor. Maybe you could try talking to

him.”

“Margaret can take care of it,” I said firmly. “Or Teresa. He’s always all ears

with them.”

“Mrs. Ferguson, Mr. Bryant… cares about you. Mr. Timothy and I have seen it

clear as day,” Gary implored, voice filled with earnestness. “It’s just that you

two are too caught up to see it.”

At that, a sour twist went through my heart. Did Bryant care about me? That

seemed far-fetched, almost like some fantasy.

Bryant was just in the next room. I knocked and heard a calm, “Come in.”

He wore a white bathrobe, tightly stretched across his back, stained with

blood seeping through the fabric.

He continued to sift through documents without even looking up. “Gary, I said

it’s fine. Go to sleep.”

“Gary’s gone to bed.” With a sense of shared burden, I spoke, “He said you’re

bleeding. I’m calling the family doc