Marrying my secret admirer after my husband's fake death novel Chapter 84

Beckett leaned in, slipping an arm around Edith’s waist. “Edith, I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

Edith instinctively recoiled from his touch.

Even in her dazed state, she knew something was wrong. She wasn’t the kind of person to behave like this for no reason.

“What did you do to me, Beckett?” Her voice trembled with accusation.

Beckett’s lips brushed against her cheek, his breathing growing deeper, rough with longing. “I’m sorry, Edith. I didn’t know what else to do. I just… I missed you too much.”

Outside, beneath the shade of the old sycamore in front of the Sumner family’s house, the branches swayed in the summer night air. Everything was quiet, almost serene.

Beckett moved closer, pressing a kiss to Edith’s face.

The shock of it snapped her back to herself with a jolt.

Her cheeks flushed hot with anger and humiliation. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms until the pain gave her a sliver of clarity.

She glared at Beckett, teeth clenched. “If you dare lay another finger on me, I swear I’ll make you regret it!”

Despite the defiance in her eyes, the strange scent in the air was working its way through her body. Instead of the fury she wanted to show, there was an unnatural softness in her gaze.

Beckett had planned every detail. Why else would he have insisted Edith stop by the Vance estate earlier, then insisted on driving her home himself?

Lately, his obsession with Edith had eaten away at him until he could barely function. He’d spent too many nights tossing and turning, haunted

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Chapter 84

by her name on his lips.

Tonight, he’d sworn to himself things would finally change. No matter what, he wouldn’t let the chance slip away.

It was the height of summer in Northcrest, and Edith wore only a pale, simple dress–making things far too easy for Beckett.

His hands roamed greedily; in moments, Edith’s dress was tugged up to her chest, exposing her bare, delicate shoulders to the stifling night.

Beckett stared, mesmerized. “Edith, you want me too, don’t you?”

A wave of nausea rolled through her. She wanted to slap him, but her body felt weak and uncooperative, as if she’d melted from the inside out. Her eyes darted to her phone.

At this point, all she could do to save herself was try to call Jayne.

She glanced up at the house, where the lights still burned in the windows. That’s it–if she could just get Jayne on the line!

But her vision was swimming; the phone’s screen blurred before her eyes, every movement a struggle. Even unlocking it felt impossible.

“Say it. Say you want me, Edith…” Beckett’s tone grew impatient when she didn’t answer.

Trying to keep him from noticing her frantic search for Jayne’s number, Edith forced out the words, her stomach twisting in disgust. “I want you,

-too.”

God, she wanted to be sick. What she really wanted was for Beckett to have died in that plane crash. Why did he come back, and not the real Bennett? It would have been better if he’d never survived at all–then at least he wouldn’t be here, doing something so monstrous.

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