Chapter 15 – Second Chance Love of the Missing Groom Novel

She felt cold despite the warm climate, because she knew that there were certain things she had to face inevitably, including Diarmuid.

There was no hiding anyway, she whipped out her phone to contact him. Be it disembowelment or hanging … It was time to face the music.

And yet, she suddenly realized that she never had his number, and had no choice but to return to her mansion… where she found Diarmuid‘s car out at the entrance.

Again?!

Abigail had already set her mind on confronting Diarmuid, but she was more or less apprehensive about actually doing it.

Scenes of his violence still flashed in her mind!

Taking a deep breath, she mustered her courage and strode into the house, and she opened the door to find Mrs. Watson waiting for her, smiling. “Welcome back.”

“Yeah,” Abigail murmured as she peeked inside, spotting a figure on the couch but not his face.

“Mr. Althoff is in,” Mrs. Watson said then.

Abigail changed into loafers before entering, forcing a smile as she offered a greeting. “Mr. Althoff.”

Diarmuid lowered the magazine he was reading to look at her and chuckled. “Mr. Althoff?‘”

She was refusing to divorce him, and yet trying to act distant?

Was she playing hard to get?

Abigail ignored it. Having apologized before, she said earnestly again, “I didn‘t mean to touch your stuff. I‘m sorry.”

“Did you really think that ‘sorry‘ would make me forgive you?” Diarmuid said, leaning back languidly on his couch and folding his legs angrily.

For some reason, he was actually pleased that she had to speak respectfully and act so wary around him.

Bullying her was somehow amusing. If Abigail knew what he was thinking, she would be cursing at him for being a deviant!

Sadly, the reality was that she was now a miserable worm who had to prostrate herself and beg for her survival.

Abigail watched him for two seconds, and decided to brace herself and curry favor with him just to keep her job.

She brought him a cup of tea, smiling. “Mr. Althoff, please don‘t hold a grudge over someone as insignificant as me.”

The smile on her face did not quite reach her eyes, and Diarmuid growled in disdain, “What an ugly smile.”

Abigail was actually trying to relax her expression, but there was no way she could relax around him. Biting her lip, she worked hard to satisfy him and bent herself backward. “Sorry.”

“Can‘t you at least do something more sincere if you‘re apologizing? For example, getting the hell out of my house?” Diarmuid said, his expression nonchalant but his words sharp.

From his perspective, Abigail was an interloper and therefore should leave… but it was not as if she wanted to invade his home!

Everyone knew that, but he was unwilling to take her as his wife, but did they know that she was not willing either?

Did anyone actually ask or show concern about how she felt?

Her beautiful, pure and crystalline eyes suddenly glistened with a watery glimmer.

Diarmuid looked into her eyes then, and felt as if he was stabbed in the chest and suffocating.

He felt as if he knew her in the past for a split second, but he quickly averted his eyes and feigned composure.

“What, trying to play the sympathy card now?” he growled, though his voice was less stern now.

Fighting back her tears, Abigail kept her voice as calm as possible. “It‘s not like I don‘t want a divorce–your grandfather had me sign an agreement so that I won‘t.”

In the past, she would never have told anyone about her own problems to gain sympathy, she could not be stubborn given her current situation. “My mother was sick, and she only got the surgery she needed because of your grandfather‘s help, so that‘s why I have to stay with you. Did you think you‘re the only reluctant partner in this marriage?”

Diarmuid narrowed his eyes coolly. “What, are you saying you‘re reluctant?”

“Of course! I would never have agreed to this marriage my father arranged if it wasn‘t to save my mother!” she cried bitterly–she would not have felt so miserable if her life was not under someone else‘s control.

Nonetheless, Diarmuid laughed icily.

What was she saying? That she was forced to marry him?

Wait, why was he getting upset as well?!

“Are you dissatisfied that you have to marry me?” he snarled through gritted teeth.

“Yes.”

Her answer was honest, but it left Diarmuid utterly incensed!

A vein was bulging on his temple.

What right did she have to be dissatisfied with this marriage?

Who did she think she was?

What gave her the right?!

Damaged goods like her, having the cheek to say she was reluctant?!

This was humiliating!

“So, you‘re hurting because you had to marry me?” He grinned, though it did not quite reach his eyes and made him look frightening.

Abigail did not get why he was upset, and answered honestly, “Yes.”

To her, every moment she had to deal with him hurt her!

She did not hesitate to answer, and it was clear how repulsed she felt toward him.

“Hah!” Diarmuid exclaimed as he sprang to his feet. “Since it hurts you, then stay hurt!”

Suddenly, he decided that he did not want that divorce.

He just had to stay married and make her suffer!

“Mr. Althoff…”

“You are staying on the blacklist. Don‘t bother!” Diarmuid snapped viciously.

Anxiety gripping her then, Abigail tugged at his clothes. “I really love my job, and I really need it. Please…”

Diarmuid, however, got sick of her pulling and shoving. He promptly shook her off, and as Abigail was too tired, she dropped on the couch like a rag doll. Her blouse unfurled out of her skirt, revealing her skin around her navel and her waist, which looked so fragile like it would snap from just a brush

At the same time, it was irresistible – one could not resist pulling that into their arms and defiling it.

Diarmuid‘s gaze darkened, though he was keeping his voice cool to hide the hoarseness. “What are you trying to seduce me now?”

Abigail was simply too tired. Even the knock on her head from last night started to hurt after her fall.

Still, she finally looked down at her blouse and quickly pulled it down.

“I won‘t be interested even if you got naked in front of me,” Diarmuid continued slowly with an icy tone, his words cutting like knives.

Abigail said nothing else then, since she knew that she would never be able to convince a heartless man.

As Diarmuid headed upstairs, she lay feebly on her couch, not inclined to move.

Mrs. Watson came to her after ensuring that Diarmuid was gone. “You look terrible. Are you sick?”

“No,” Abigail replied, shaking her head.

“You haven‘t had dinner, yes? Would you like to eat something for now?” Mrs. Watson asked.

Abigail had zero appetite , however, and thought that she could not eat anything just then.

“I just want to sleep. Could you get me a blanket?” she asked, since Diarmuid was upstairs – she did not know if he was sleeping in her usual room, so she decided that she could sleep on the couch instead.

Seeing that she was really tired, Mrs. Watson brought her a blanket and pulled it over her gently. “Alright. Sleep for now–I‘ll heat up some dinner so that you can have something when you‘re up.” Abigail looked up at Mrs. Watson despite her heavy eyelids, knowing right then that she was the only person who gave her warmth in this ice–cold mansion.

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