Chapter 96

chapter96

That night, Roseanne made an excuse about feeling unwell to sleep alone in the guest room. She was afraid that spending another second with that man in their bedroom would make her lose control and throw up. It was a pitch-dark night. The wind was freezing, and her tears flowed endlessly into the pillow.

The next day, she booked an appointment at a top-tier hospital's gynecology department for a thorough check-up. Thankfully, the results came back clear—there were no issues. From then on, she consciously kept Murray at arm’s length.

And he didn't notice a thing. How could he? While he was busy sleeping around with different flings, how could he possibly realize that he hadn’t been physical with his own girlfriend for weeks?

When the confrontation finally came, Roseanne didn't hold back. "I just find you so disgusting. Can you please stay away from me?"

Murray gasped for air as though someone had physically choked him. For a moment, he didn't dare meet her gaze. The realization hit him like a physical blow: she knew everything.

The sky began to drizzle again. The cold wind moaned, bone-chilling to the core. Murray stood in the rain, letting it soak him through until he looked like a statue carved from stone. His gaze remained fixed on Roseanne’s fading silhouette, motionless even as she disappeared from view.

Millie dashed through the rain, noticing his pale lips and the shivering of his frame. "Murray, please take care of yourself! You’ll fall sick if you stay out here any longer!" she cried out.

She stood by him, equally drenched and shivering. "You're standing here for her, but what about Roseanne? She doesn’t care about you! I’m the one who loves you. I don't want us to break up. Please, let me stay by your side, okay?"

Murray ignored her, his eyes rimmed with red. He shoved her away with a sudden, violent motion. "Leave me alone!"

"If you don't go, I'll stay with you!" Determined, Millie clenched her teeth, giving up on persuasion.

Lost in his own world, Murray was oblivious to anything Millie said or did. He stubbornly hoped for Roseanne to soften—to turn back even for a single glance. But Roseanne walked away, resolute and stern, her back a wall he could no longer scale.

Overwhelmed by drunkenness and the biting cold, Murray’s legs finally gave out. He collapsed onto the wet ground.

Panicked, Millie rushed forward. "Murray! Babe! Don't scare me. Please..."

With the help of a passing taxi driver, Millie managed to heave Murray into the vehicle. Back at the mansion, she hurried to strip him of his wet clothes and towel-dry his hair, too preoccupied to care about her own soaked state.

The family doctor arrived in a rush and hooked him up to an IV. By midnight, Murray’s complexion had improved, though he remained trapped in a feverish sleep. In the dead of night, an exhausted Millie caught snippets of his mumbled dreams. Leaning in, she heard him whisper one name repeatedly: "Anne."

Millie recalled the cold, emotionless way he had spoken about his "meaningless" relationship with Roseanne earlier that day. Her fears were finally materializing; his heart was far more entangled than he had admitted.

But she wasn't ready to let go. How could she give up after spending so much time and effort to secure her place by this man's side? How could she walk away after finally pushing the ex-girlfriend out of the picture?

With that thought, Millie’s gaze over the sleeping man darkened. Finally, as if reaching a desperate decision, she bit her lip and shed her own clothes. She found a pair of Roseanne’s silk pajamas left behind in the closet, slipped into them, and carefully slid into the bed beside Murray.

Half-asleep and burning with fever, Murray felt a soft, familiar warmth against his chest. A scent drifted to his nose—one he associated with years of comfort. He struggled to open his eyes, his vision blurred and dazed. In the dim light, he saw the pajamas, the silhouette, and the face he had been calling for.

"Anne...?" he whispered, his hand reaching out to pull the figure closer.