Seven Years a Shadow: The Stand-In's Escape novel Chapter 37

Later, he held me in his arms, whispering my name over and over again.

"Clara, don't be afraid."

Half-asleep, I heard my phone ringing.

Dazed, I answered it.

Marcus's voice came through the receiver.

"Clara."

I smiled and murmured playfully, "Marcus, I miss you. Come pick me up and take me home."

Before he could reply, I hung up, sinking back into unconsciousness.

When I woke up, it was already five in the afternoon.

My head throbbed painfully. I needed something to sober up.

Marcus used to drink a lot for business, so I had learned to make hangover soup for him.

Now, I needed it for myself.

I opened the door and saw him.

Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, Marcus was bathed in the warm glow of the chandelier. His eyes were fixed on me, his lips pressed into a tight, restrained line.

"Drink less next time. You've lost weight."

His voice was the same as always, as if he still cared about me.

"None of your business."

I brushed past him, but he suddenly grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his arms.

I froze.

Then, struggling with all my might, I tried to break free.

"Don't touch me."

I felt filthy.

He didn't let go. Instead, he tilted my chin up in a provocative manner.

"Clara, you were the one who said you missed me. You were the one who asked me to pick you up."

Tears blurred my vision.

I bit my lip and sneered, "So obedient. I tell you to come, and you actually do. Like a well-trained dog."

It was the first time I had ever spoken to him so cruelly.

Marcus snapped.

Like an enraged lion, he grabbed my hands and pinned me against the cold glass, leaving me no room to escape.

I glared back at him defiantly, refusing to back down.

His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable, growing deeper and more dangerous.

A long silence stretched between us.

Then, he leaned in, his breath warm and heavy against my skin. His lips hovered just inches from mine.

Just as he was about to kiss me—

"That's mine. Give it back."

Like a madwoman, I lunged forward to snatch it.

In the struggle, I accidentally pushed Anna—wheelchair and all—over.

Anna wasn't seriously hurt, just a minor bruise on her foot—not that it mattered since she was already in a wheelchair.

Marcus demanded that I return the microphone to Anna and apologize.

"Why should I?" I asked.

"She doesn't blame you. She just likes the microphone."

His voice grew colder as he reached for the microphone in my hands. I swiftly switched it to the other.

"Just because she likes it, she gets to take it?"

"Clara, I gave you this microphone. Asking you to return it isn't unreasonable, is it?"

I froze. My mind went blank for a moment, my fists clenching as I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat.

Looking up at him, I whispered, "Then what about me? What am I to you, Marcus?"

"Don't forget—the one who signed the marriage certificate with you was me, not Anna."

I finally couldn't hold back anymore.

He didn't answer.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, but the tears kept falling, unstoppable.

"Marcus, I want a divorce."