Westley You Are Late Chapter 13
The sharp pain in my wrist pulled me back to the present.
I wrenched my hand free and rubbed the angry red marks he’d left behind.
“Westley, we broke up. What right do you have to talk to me like that?”
His body went rigid, the anger in his eyes melting into something that looked like hurt.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “That was just words,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I never agreed to break up.”
He took a step closer, his gaze still fixed on the gown.
“Be good. Change out of it and let’s go home. Once we’re back, I’ll listen to whatever you want, okay?”
Home?
He was still calling that apartment home, a place he himself never went back to.
Which meant that from the day I moved out a year ago until now, he hadn’t set foot in it once.
I looked at his face, at the almost-sincere expression he wore, and was struck by how absurd it all was.
“Westley, the day you gave someone else the code to that apartment, it stopped being my home.”
He had no reply. The hand at his side slowly curled into a fist.
After a few seconds, he finally spoke.
“You’re still angry. I’ve always seen Sofia as a little sister. Do you really hate her that much?”
“Fine. If you don’t like her, I won’t let her go to the apartment anymore.”
Even after a year, he still didn’t get it.
Or maybe he’d never cared enough to try.
It was never just about the apartment. It was about the fact that he and Sofia had no boundaries.
It was about the fact that in his heart, I would always come second to her.
But none of that mattered anymore.
I turned away from him.
“You should go. My husband will be here soon. He doesn’t have the best temper, and you shouldn’t provoke him.”