Chapter 4
The slap came out of nowhere. Eleanor Knight’s left cheek burned with a sharp, stinging pain.
She staggered back two steps, her ears ringing. As her vision blurred, she instinctively braced herself against the wall.
“Isabella Whitlock!” Eleanor snapped her head up, fury blazing in her eyes.
Her raised hand was caught mid-air. Sebastian Sinclair gripped her wrist so tightly it hurt.
“Eleanor,” he said with a frown, “Isabella is timid. Don’t scare her.”
Eleanor trembled with rage. “She hit me, and you’re saying I’m scaring her?”
Isabella suddenly threw herself into Sebastian’s arms, her voice quivering with fake tears. “Sebastian, you told me to be braver… I—I was just nervous…”
Sebastian’s expression softened slightly. “I meant for you to face your fears, not slap people.”
“I’m sorry,” Isabella sniffled, tears rolling down her cheeks on cue. “You said your wife was patient, so I thought…”
She broke into exaggerated sobs, and Sebastian immediately pulled her closer, rubbing her back soothingly.
“Enough. Stop crying.”
Eleanor watched the scene, her chest heavy as if weighed down by a stone.
“Sebastian,” she said, her voice shaking, “I’m the one who got hit.”
At that, Isabella wailed even louder, burying her face in Sebastian’s chest.
“How hard could she have hit you?” Sebastian said impatiently. “Must you make a big deal out of it?”
Without another word, he scooped Isabella into his arms and walked away, not sparing Eleanor a second glance.
She stood frozen, the pain on her face nothing compared to the ache in her heart.
When she returned to the mansion, the butler gasped at the sight of her.
“Madam! Your face—”
“It’s nothing,” she cut him off softly. “Don’t tell him.”
As she pressed an ice pack to her cheek, her phone buzzed.
A photo from Isabella—her lying in a hospital bed while Sebastian bent over to feed her water.
“Madam, Sebastian insisted on taking me to the hospital~ He said I cried too hard and might hurt my voice.”
Eleanor immediately forwarded the screenshot to Sebastian.
At two in the morning, his reply finally came:
“She’s young. Doesn’t know better.”
Eleanor pressed the voice message button. “If you like her so much, why don’t I just step aside?”
The moment she sent it, her phone rang.
“Eleanor,” Sebastian sighed, his voice laced with exasperation. “How many times do I have to say it? You’re the only one I call my wife.”
Eleanor scoffed. “And?”
“Be good. I’ll come see you tomorrow,” he murmured, his tone coaxing, as if pacifying a petulant child.
