Chapter 208

His eyes turned ice cold instantly, his voice dropping to a warning whisper.

“Jane, Your boldness continues to surprise me more and more. We’re not

divorced yet.”

“I’m aware,” I replied, lifting my head defiantly. “In a place as crowded as this,

what could happen between Mark and me?”

“Come home with me!” His tone was as commanding as ever, his hand

gripping mine, ready to drag me away.

I tried to pull free, only to hear him say, “He and Dorothy got called away by

Gladys. Do you want to freeze out here?” Clearly, Mark wouldn’t be showing

up anytime soon.

Reluctantly, I stopped struggling. After all, I had a crucial discussion pending

with Bryant tonight.

“Let go. I can walk by myself,” I insisted.

He ignored my protest, dragging me to the car.

A spark of anger flared within me. I quickly sent a message to Mark, informing

him I had to leave early. Then, without waiting to get home, I pulled up a video

and thrust my phone before Bryant.

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The car filled with the suggestive sounds from the video!

Probably thinking we were spicing up our evening with porn, the driver

discreetly raised the privacy screen.

Bryant didn’t look at the phone but stared at me instead. “You’ve started

watching this sort of thing now?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Just keep watching,” I urged, my arm growing tired, and I handed the phone

to Bryant.

As the unmistakable voices of Albert and Margaret emanated from the device,

Bryant’s expression turned frosty.

The recorded conversation was utterly unsuitable for polite company, made

all the worse because the speakers were his father and the woman he

adored!

Bryant gave me a chilling glance before fiddling with the screen.

“Deleting it won’t help,” I pointed out, having expected the move. “I’ve made

backups.”

The evidence I had so painstakingly gathered wasn’t something I would lose

through carelessness.

Yet, aside from the chill, I couldn’t detect any additional emotion on his face.

He tossed the phone aside, his gaze deep and unreadable. “You delete it. It’s

an eyesore.”

Turning to look at him, I tried to gauge his reaction. “Bryant, you’re not mad?”

“What? Are you disappointed?” His voice was cold and detached. “Jane, I’m

not a fool. I didn’t need you to throw this evidence in my face.”

My eyes widened in disbelief. “You knew about it already?”

“To some extent,” he replied, his tone noncommittal.

I clicked my tongue in frustration. “Then you are quite pitiful, yet so tolerant.”

He asked, “Tolerant of what