Chapter 193


    I had to admit power was quite themodity. With just a few words from


    Bryant, I realized I was well and truly trapped. If he wanted, he could have his


    bodyguards form a literal wall around me, making it impossible for me to


    leave.


    Lips pursed, I decided to turn around, bypassing him with a cold demeanor,


    and headed straight back to my room. And immediately, I locked the door


    behind me.


    So, he wanted to confine me there? Fine, let him. After all, I was just a loaf at


    this point.


    The Ferguson Mansioncked nothing. It provided good food, fine wine, and


    staff at beck and call. At most, I’d just wait out the cooling-off period for the


    divorce, and I’d be free.


    Our room remained untouched. The housekeepers knew Bryant disliked


    anyone messing with his stuff, so their cleaning was limited to dusting and


    mopping.


    Nothing was ever moved. My slippers, skincare stuff, books by the bed, hair


    ties, everything was just where I left them.


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    However, the other half of the bed, Bryant’s side, bore the signs of recent use.


    I was surprised. He stayed in this room and hadn’t erased any trace of my


    existence there.


    Knock. Not long after I had finished showering, there was a knock on the


    door. I didn’t move an inch, not wanting to engage.


    Soon, Gary’s voice came through. “Mrs. Ferguson.”


    That got me up and heading for the door. “What is it?”


    Given Gary’s unexpected betrayal, my tone was less than warm.


    Gary didn’t seem to mind and started awkwardly, “The housekeepers found


    Mr. Ferguson’s clothes soaked in blood. I just checked on him, and his wound


    is still bleeding. He refuses to see a doctor. Maybe you could try talking to


    him.”


    “Margaret can take care of it,” I said firmly. “Or Teresa. He’s always all ears


    with them.”


    “Mrs. Ferguson, Mr. Bryant… cares about you. Mr. Timothy and I have seen it


    clear as day,” Gary implored, voice filled with earnestness. “It’s just that you


    two are too caught up to see it.”


    At that, a sour twist went through my heart. Did Bryant care about me? That


    seemed far-fetched, almost like some fantasy.


    Bryant was just in the next room. I knocked and heard a calm, “Come in.”


    He wore a white bathrobe, tightly stretched across his back, stained with


    blood seeping through the fabric.


    He continued to sift through documents without even looking up. “Gary, I said


    it’s fine. Go to sleep.”


    “Gary’s gone to bed.” With a sense of shared burden, I spoke, “He said you’re


    bleeding. I’m calling the family doc