Shades Of Mr.billionaire - Chapter 300

So I grab my phone, clear the missed call from my husband.

“Is he okay?” Fu Heng asks on a chuckle and Yi Lan joining him.

“Yeah. He’s fine, but keep a straight face when he leaves to go and change out of his ruined shirt.” I grin.

“Oh MY GOD! He has broken the buttons?” The Yi Lan burst into laughs as he flopping back in her chair.

Fu Heng the looks over at Yi Lan, then joins her laughter.

“Oh damn heck! What I’d do to go back in time to make sure I was there.” He said.

I manage to hold my giggles and slip into my office when my call connects to the clinic.

After getting past the guard dog of a receptionist, I finally get an appointment for four o’clock.

Another day passes quite fast, and with only a few missed calls from my husband. Actually, I always expected his calls but at the same times, there’s a lack of his persistence.

So he didn’t call my office too, even he didn’t stop by as he did in the past. I’m sure that he seems to be able to accept my request for space. Today is a week since I’ve seen him. And I would be a liar if I said I don’t miss him, but I need to handle this matter. The only way I can ensure was sticking to my principal so we can make better in future.

I collect my bag and get up from my desk, which happens to be broken.

“See you tomorrow all, I got to go,” I say as I pass by of my colleagues.

“And I’ve finished all the final decision with our boss,” I inform as I don’t want to be bothered where I’m going because it will undoubtedly lead to further questions.

Privacy in this office is quite expensive.

A chorus of goodbyes rings out as I shut the door behind me and I make my way to the tube. The ringtone starts up as I’m approaching the station, but I ignore my phone in my bag.

Where should I’m be going now?

Right now I really don’t want to think about him, but it’s hard when his favourite song, is echoing very loudly, even from my bag. Sometimes it stops for a second, but then it’s starting to ring again. Still, I got no choice unless ignore it and focusing my attention back on the nearing station.

Just then, I got reflect jump on a shocked gasp when a tall, lean, a sweet eyed wall lands in front of me, and my hand flies up to my chest, resting on my heart as I breathe heavily.

Then I start to get all my mighty irritated.

“What are you doing?” I ask shortly.

“Hm…You won’t answer your phone.” He points to my bag.

“Maybe you never want too,” He complains.

Then I look up at him and find an accusing stare. He knows damn well that I could hear it.

“So you were stalking me? Is it?” I can be accused, too.

“Hm. Where are you going?” He steps in closer, but I step back.

Right now, I must avoid touching him.

Oh shit! But where am I going now?

“Meeting,” I blurt.

“I’ll take you there then,” He says.

“NO! I’ve told you, that I need a space just by my own,” I’m aware of fellow pedestrians stepping around us, some screaming, some throwing filthy glares, but I’m not concerned and neither is Feng Teng himself.

He’s just staring at me, looking shockingly spectacular in his deep black suit and blue shirt.

“How long you need the space? It’s been a week and we just got married on last Sunday night but you left me until after Sunday. And today was Monday which only a few hours left will be Tuesday,” He reaches forward and grasps my upper arm before sliding his touch down my arm until he’s holding my hand.

As always, my hairs stand up on end and a shiver reverberates through me. So I watch him and stare at our joined hands, his fingers weaving through mine slowly as he chews his lip.

“Babe, I’m struggling,” He looks up at me and lands me with a green glazed stare.

“Without you, I’m lifeless,” He says softly.

My heart got breaks after heard he said and he is standing before me. I know he’s completely looking in mess. So I clench my eyes shut, desperately fighting my natural instinct to step into him and hold him.

If he’s not getting his way with f**kings of various degrees or his style countdown, then he’s breaking me down with heart-wrenching words.

It wouldn’t be so bad, but I know he absolutely means each and every syllable.

Now he got crippling me again.

“Sorry, I really need to go.” I hate myself for leaving him like this.

As I turning to stride forward and in fully expecting to be held back, instead he releases my hand and letting I’m walking away.

Then I’m feeling shocked and actually quite worried.

He doesn’t seem like his usual self anymore.

“Babe. Wifey, please. I’ll do anything. Please, don’t leave me like this.” His pleading voice halts me dead in my tracks, pain slicing through me.

But I’m still crazy mad with him.

“Hmm…Let me drive you to the destination, at least. I can’t see you get on the train. Just ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking for. Please,” He pleads.

“But it’ll be faster than driving,” I say quietly amid the roaring crowds.

So I turn to face him.

“Please, let’s me,” He begged.

“But I won’t make it in time with the traffic…” I halt when it occurs to me that with his driving style, I probably will make it.

He is clearly thinking the same because his eyebrow is slightly raised. But I can’t tell him where I’m going. As he might have a heart attack or seizure. Then, I quickly wrack my tired brain and come up with only one option. So I’ll ask him to drop me off around the corner from the clinic.

I think there are some residential building close by. So He won’t know anything.

I sigh.

“Let’s go then,” I agreed.

The relief obviously washes over his face is obvious, and it emphasises my guilt.

Why I’m feeling guilty is beyond me, though. I watch him slowly lift his arm and take my hand gently, then slowly lead me back towards a hotel and into the car park.

The valet produces the keys from his cabin and hands them to him, and he releases me only when we get to the car so I can get in.

Pulling out onto the street, he drives with consideration for the other road users and shifts gears gently, too.

His driving style is matching his mood; subdued.

“Where we going?” he asks as he turns the music system on and filters through the speakers.

Even the music is passive and soft.

So I scan my brain for a road name around the surgery, and only one comes to mind.

“Street AAQ1 at the corner of the building downtown,” I say, looking out of the window.

“Okay,” he answers quietly.

And I know he’s looking at me. Should I turn and challenge him, prompting him to explain himself better, but my despondency is getting the better of me. He’d better not mistake it for submission. I’m not surrendering on this as I just need to get myself to the doctor, minus one without him, and get my awful situation remedied.

He pulls into the residential garden and drives slowly down the tree-lined street.

“Just stop here,” I indicate to the left, and he pulls over.

Now I pray that he doesn’t hang about.

“Thank you,” I open the door.

“You’re welcome. Babe,” he murmurs.

I know if I turn and look at him, I’ll see cogs whirring at a million miles per hour and a concerned frown set in place on his handsome head, so I don’t.

Quickly, I step out of the car.

“Erm… Wait…Will you have dinner with me tonight?” he asks urgently like he knows his chance is slipping.

I take a deep breath and turn back towards the car.

“You just asked for ten minutes, and I gave them to you instead you said nothing.” I leave a despairing face of hurt and make my way across the road, but suddenly come to an abrupt halt when it occurs to me that I have no client’s house in which to disappear.

So I need to back-track at least half a mile, and I can’t do that with my spying husband sat at the kerb in his car.

Then I pull my bag open and feign searching for something while mentally praying for him to leave. Just then, I hear out for the roar, or possible of his car engines and after what seems like forever, it finally reaches my ears.

It���s spurr vroom. I look over my shoulder and watch his car disappear down the tree-lined street before I head back the way we came and over to road street. Suddenly, I feel nauseous, but I put it down to nerves and I’m not sure how I’m going to approach this.

After my numerous visits to the doctor, seeking replacement safety and got a piece of advice as I received from the doctor each time. So now, I’m might facing a grilling and an even sterner talk on carelessness. I bet the doctor will think that I’m seeking for punishment.

Then I check myself in and pick up a magazine from the waiting room table, then spend twenty minutes pretending to read it. While I’m fidgeting and pulling at my clothes to try and cool myself down.

Oh, God. I really do feel sick, my nauseous state only worsened when, like an omen, I come across an article expressing the arguments for and against termination.

A despairing laugh falls from my lips.

“Should you say something?” A voice heard to my ears.

It’s him.

I freeze in my waiting room chair as my husband familiar brogue washes over me, then I snap the magazine shut.

“You followed me?” I ask, completely stunned as I turn to face him.

“Do you know that you’re bad at lying, my babe wifey?” he states factually, but softly.

He’s right. Yes, I’m all a shit at it, but I need to work on it if I’m going to stay with him.

Only if I’m going to stay?

Did I really just think that?

“Should you tell me why you’re now at this clinic and why you lied to me about it?” He rests his hand on my bare knee and circles it slowly as he watches me intently.

I throw the magazine back on the table. There is no escaping this man.

“Just a regular check-up,” I mutter to my knee, trying to shift it from his grasp.

“A regular check-up?” His tone has altered significantly.