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Love and hate intertwined
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Love and hate intertwined Novel Cover

Love and hate intertwined

I had loved Silas for ten years. But on the very day I was diagnosed with a terminal illness, his first love returned home. I loved him. Whether he loved me in return, I didn't know—I couldn't feel it. But I was certain he would never cheat. In the final days of my life, I flawlessly played the role of the perfect wife. After I died, he found my diary. And when he finished reading it, he broke down and wept with a gut-wrenching, soul-crushing agony.
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Chapter 18

A week had passed since my confrontation with Serena at the cafe.

As our fourth wedding anniversary approached, Silas became increasingly clingy, almost to the point of suffocation. He came home early every day. After dinner, he even insisted on putting on his coat to walk Nova in Central Park with me.

Tonight, I was sitting in bed, reading a novel while my diary remained locked in the bottom drawer. Silas climbed into bed and immediately closed the distance between us, pulling me tightly into his arms.

I rested my head against his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart. He rested his chin on the top of my head, looking down at the pages of my book.

It was a trashy domestic drama. The cheating husband was defending his mistress, and the wife had just slapped the other woman, screaming, "I'm his wife!"

I felt Silas's arm tighten around my waist. His whole body went rigid.

I turned the page without reacting. I kept reading as the husband in the book realized his mistake, begged for forgiveness, and ultimately won his wife back for a happy ending.

By the time I finished the chapter, it was past midnight.

The pain in my abdomen was a dull, persistent throbbing; I needed my painkillers. I tried to pull out of his arms to go to the bathroom, but he held me like a vice.

"Silas?" I whispered into the dark.

"Mm," he grunted, his voice thick with sleep.

The bedroom was silent.

"Nina," he murmured, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His voice sounded incredibly fragile, almost like a frightened child. "You never used to call me by my full name. You always called me 'Si.'"

A bitter, cynical laugh rose in my throat.

When we first got married, he never called me Nina either. In front of others, he called me "Ms. Thorne," and when we were alone, he barely spoke to me at all.

We had both changed.

I rolled over to face him, resting my hand on his waist. I smiled into his shadowy silhouette. "Okay, Si."

He stared at me, his eyes tracking every subtle shift in my expression, searching for a crack in my facade. Finding none, he pulled me flush against him.

"Nina..." he said softly.

If I didn't know the truth, I really would have believed this man was madly in love with me.

But if he loved me... why did he rush to Serena's side the second she called?

Continue to next part

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