The Fifth Year of Marriage to Him novel Chapter 122

Chapter 122

“I reviewed today’s security footage,” he murmured, squinting slightly.

So what?

Another excuse for Maricela, no doubt..

He pulled out his phone, tapped rapidly.

Lucille’s phone buzzed. She glanced down. Wow. One million dollars transferred from Cedrick.

“Maricela acted rashly,” he conceded, setting his phone aside. “But she’s under stress with that lawsuit. You, though–calling yourself Mrs. Maynard, righteous and refusing to let it go…” He met her gaze, a smirk playing on his lips. “I apologize on her behalf. Mrs. Maynard.”

He lingered on the title, dripping with mockery.

Predictable. Always excuses for Maricela. Saint Maricela could do no wrong; only Lucille was unreasonable.

Arguing was pointless. But a million hush money? An unexpected windfall. Nobody turns down cash.

As for love? Let whoever wants it take it. It meant nothing to her anyway.

She pocketed the transfer, cradling her phone as she turned toward the bedroom.

Cedrick followed, his voice a lazy drawl. “For a million dollars, can’t you spare me a snack?”

As if he hadn’t eaten with her! His precious Maricela needed comforting, didn’t she?

“Mylee’s asleep,” Lucille snapped without looking back. “Don’t bother her. Housekeepers are people too.”

“Who said anything about Mylee?” His footsteps closed in behind her. “You’re Mrs. Maynard. Can’t you pour me some milk?”

“It’s in the fridge. If your hands work, get it yourself.”

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Chapter 122

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“I want it warm. Heat it for me?”

Lucille whirled around. “Are your hands broken? You cook for your Maricela but can’t heat

milk?”

They stood face–to–face.

His eyes were unreadable shadows.

Then, unexpectedly, he reached out and pinched her check, amused. “Jealousy makes women irrational. Didn’t I cook for you? Who made dinner at Grandma’s?”

Lucille slapped his hand away. Jealous? Not even a flicker!

She just wanted to wipe that smirk off his face!

But before her hand fully withdrew, his arms locked around her waist. He scooped her up, and they tumbled onto the bed.

“And back in high school, didn’t you ever taste my fried chicken legs?”

He pinned her down, his alcohol–laden breath hot against her face.

He’d been drinking again–no wonder he was acting so strange!

“You heartless little thing! Those chicken legs might as well have been fed to a dog!”

His weight pressed into her, resentment still simmering beneath the surface.

“Stop it!”

Now he wanted to reminisce about high school?

Hadn’t he claimed her every move back then was just to chase after him?

She couldn’t stomach this!

“Don’t bring up high school anymore. I’ve forgotten all of it.”

He hovered above her, dark eyes mere inches from hers, shadowed and unreadable. “Forgotten?”

“Yes.”

Nor did she wish to remember.

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Chapter 122

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