Too Late to Say You Love Me

The water was laced with his favorite ebony-scented bath gel. The air itself was thick with it—Owen's signature indulgence.

However, my obedience didn’t earn me a kind word, only the full weight of his fury.

As soon as Julia entered the bathroom, Owen yanked me onto the bed with force, his body pressing me down.

“Sheryl,” he sneered, “do you really enjoy serving my mistresses that much?”

“If you just say you love me, beg me to send her away, I might actually grant your wish.”

“After all, you’re the woman I liked since childhood. No one else’s body ever pleased me as much as yours.”

He stared at me intently, eyes searching—desperate to find the slightest trace of jealousy, heartbreak, or longing.

But what he saw only disappointed him.

My gaze was dead—emptied of hope, feeling, or life.

“Sheryl, don’t go too far! I gave you a chance—all I asked was for you to lower your head. Was that so difficult?”

“You killed my parents. And I still didn’t divorce you. What more do you want from me?!”

So that was all it would take—just one word from me to end it all.

But it was already too late.

I closed my eyes, a hollow ache spreading in my chest as I whispered, “If I ask you to divorce me now, will you say yes?”

The lust in his eyes vanished. He shoved me off him without warning.

I hit the floor hard, my bones rattling from the impact.

“Don’t think I won’t divorce you. I’m just waiting for you to crawl back on your knees like always!”

“If you love watching me with other women so much, then I’ll make sure you get a front-row seat!”

I didn’t respond. Just calmly got up and opened the drawer by the bed.

“Which brand do you want tonight? Okamoto again? Is three enough?”

Hearing my words, he suddenly kicked the drawer shut, sending boxes scattering across the floor.

“No need! We won’t use anything tonight!”

Even as he barked, my expression remained tranquil—unshaken.

Cursing under his breath, Owen turned, locked the bedroom door behind him, and stormed into the bathroom.

I didn’t know what he was angry about.

Scenes like this had played out countless times over the past eight years.

The sound of the bathroom door slamming echoed through the room.

But moments later, it opened again.

He came back with handcuffs and shackled me to the doorframe.

This time, he didn’t look back.

Soon, the sound of rushing water filled the air.

Julia’s voice rang out, laced with embarrassment and disbelief.

“Mr. Carter, Ms. Sheryl is still outside. This isn’t—”

Before she could finish, whatever protest she had was swallowed by him.

Her bathrobe landed in a heap outside the door.

Owen had left the bathroom door wide open on purpose.

Through the foggy glass, their silhouettes moved together in a rhythm I’d long since grown numb to.

From shame... to grief... to nothingness.

The thunder outside the window rumbled.

Rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows.

In a trance, I remembered a time when we were in love.

No matter where Owen was, he would rush home at the first sound of thunder, just to hold me through the night.

He knew how much I feared storms.

He’d wrap his arms around me and never let go. His hand would gently stroke my back until I fell asleep.

He did love me once.

And he truly hates me now.

My knees were so bruised I could no longer feel them. My legs were swollen and discolored.

Finally, he emerged—carrying Julia in his arms like a victor claiming his prize.

Without a word, he unlocked the cuffs from my wrists.

“Change Julia’s clothes. And don’t you dare close your eyes.”

On the bed, Julia lay completely bare, cheeks flushed pink.

“Sorry to trouble you, Ms. Sheryl ,” she said sweetly, feigning innocence.

Owen chuckled coldly. “How could it be trouble? She loves watching. It’s her favorite thing.”

“She can’t sleep unless she hears me with another woman. Tsk. She's born a slut.”

I lowered my eyes, opened a new box labeled Cat Maid, and began dressing Julia.

The little cat ears twitched playfully as I adjusted the outfit.

It looked... adorable.