"Thank you for your generous reward, Sir," I said.
Phoebe hurried over, worry flooding her eyes. Completely ignoring the child in her arms, she reached a hand to my mouth. "Spit it out, quickly!"
Acid churned in my stomach. Fighting the overwhelming urge to vomit, I forced myself to swallow it down and smiled gratefully at Jose.
Phoebe's eyes widened, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.
She knew better than anyone that I used to suffer from extreme mysophobia—I refused to touch anything that had been touched by someone else. That was why I didn't hesitate to file for divorce when I discovered Phoebe was having an affair.
However, she refused to let go.
In a short time, she orchestrated a car accident that killed my parents and took over the company. My parents were buried hastily and the very next day, Phoebe brought Jose right into our home.
Consumed by hatred, I grabbed a knife to stab that despicable couple.
Yet the moment I accidentally cut Jose just a little, Phoebe bribed a doctor to diagnose me as mentally unstable. She had me sent to a mental hospital for torment, forcing me to learn obedience.
Meanwhile, she and Jose shamelessly enjoyed the vast fortune and connections my parents had spent their entire lives building.
My fingers trembled violently as I took the gasping child from her. "Sshh, shhh. Don't cry, baby."
My gentle soothing was effective. The child, exhausted from crying, fell into a deep sleep in my arms.
Phoebe looked at me, as if wanting to say something, but she held back. I avoided her gaze and carried the child back to the nursery.
A sliver of light seeped through the door crack.
Jose scoffed, swirling his wine glass and disdainfully tossed me a bottle of disinfectant. "Eating things out of a garbage can is too filthy. Hans, you must maintain hygiene, or I won't dare to use you."
I picked up the disinfectant at my feet and bent to thank him gratefully. "Thank you, Sir."
Still, Jose showed no sign of leaving. Instead, his gaze was intensely fixed on me.
I understood immediately and nodded, turning to the nanny's room to pour the entire bottle of disinfectant into the bathtub. I stripped off all my clothes and scrubbed myself vigorously with a steel wool pad.
My skin instantly bled and the entire bathtub was filled with a gruesome mixture of blood and water.
As the disinfectant soaked into my skin, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from letting out a single cry of pain. My entire body felt like it was being stung by countless bees, pricked by a million tiny needles.
Just as I became overwhelmed by the pain and was about to pass out, Jose mercifully spoke. "Get dressed after you've washed yourself clean. I'll take you to a nice place."
I didn't have time to tend to the bleeding wounds, so I hastily threw on some clothes and followed Jose out.
Phoebe stood leaning against the staircase, frowning and her tone was full of sympathy. "Don't pick things out of the trash can next time. As long as you're good, no one will punish you, Hans."
Before she married me, Phoebe was just a junior employee at the company.
Back then, while she was pursuing me, she learned about my sensitive stomach and spent half a year's salary on a nutrition course. She would show up with fresh Band-Aids on her fingers every day, yet the thoughtful lunch box she delivered to my office never once stopped coming.
Even after we were married, the stomach-soothing lunch boxes continued. No matter how late I worked, there was always a wisp of steam in the kitchen.
"Hans, if you like it, I'll make you a lovingly prepared lunch box for the rest of my life," she said.
The sound of keys jangling snapped me back to the present. Jose stood in the living room, impatience flickering in his eyes. "Hans, it's time to leave."
I politely nodded to Phoebe, gesturing for her to move aside. But instead of letting go, her brows furrowed even deeper as she gripped my wrist tightly. "Hans, you weren't like this before."
Before?
Did she mean after marriage, when I treated her with genuine affection, promoted her to Vice President, handed over all my high-level authority and confidential files to her? Or when I gradually told her all my weaknesses and sore spots?
