The Lies He Told | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ROMANCE |

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

"What?" His eyes squeezed into venomous slits. "So, let me get this straight. Instead of waiting for me to answer the door, like a normal person, you took it upon yourself to come inside and get fucking comfortable. You don't think that's a little crazy, Liv?"

My body was filled with nervous energy, causing me to fidget and shift my weight back and forth. I could not contain the anticipation for what was to come. It manifested in physical actions. "Well, I mean, that is one way of looking at it, I suppose."

Royce looked at me like I had suddenly sprouted wings and started tap-dancing on the ceiling. The man was blessed with a face sculpted from granite, but even a statue could convey that level of bewildered disbelief etched onto his perplexed countenance. He thought I was psychotically insane.

"What?" My mind reeled with embarrassment. I had never felt so utterly foolish. "I would appreciate it if you would discontinue the inquisition. The judgement implicit in your expression is both inappropriate and disrespectful."

He reacted with a derisive scoff, finding irony in the situation. His laughter was tempered with scornfulness as he observed my futile attempt to impose standards of conduct, particularly when my questionable behaviour could be seen as hypocritical. If there were a competition for the least qualified person to lecture on moral conduct, I would win hands down.

"Tell me, if you 'wanted to see me,' why the whole 'scavenger hunt' upstairs? Why rummage through my shit, then hide under the bed?" He tilted his head slightly, a gesture that would seem almost playful if not for the grim smirk that stretched his lips taut. "Your version of events is not very fucking convincing!"

I mentally prepared myself for the onslaught of his unbridled rage, aware that I had transgressed and must take responsibility.

Yet, as his diatribe persisted, relentlessly targeting my integrity with allegations of deceit and conniving, labelling me as a sly and deceitful woman, I could no longer contain my emotions and erupted in response.

His clenched fist thundered down on the kitchen counter, the force of it sending shockwaves through my body and rattling the very bones. "Answer me!"

"Do not yell at me!" I shouted, ready to face this class of aggressiveness like a man. "I may have overstepped the mark by coming here, and for that, I apologise. But let me remind you, I am not just some insignificant person to be belittled and shouted at! I am a woman, and no man, not even God himself, has the right to raise their voice at me and make me feel small! I will not be intimidated by anyone, least of all you!"

"Intimidation?" His eyes—a clash of two forces—glittered with a dark amusement. "Funny, I thought I was just a cheap imitation compared to your husband. After hearing about his lovely motivational techniques, I'm downright charming."

My mouth gaped in incredulity. I was utterly taken aback by his audacious claim to understand the inner complexities of my marriage despite possessing no knowledge of its intricacies whatsoever. "Was that an accusation?"

"That was an all-out character assassination." A self-satisfied smirk stretched across his face as if he had won an invisible trophy for being an insufferable idiot. "Don't try to play innocent now. You and I both know what he's all about."

"Your ignorance is outstanding." My blood boiled as my palm connected with his chest, the shock of the impact jolting me as much as him. "How dare you presume to know the nuances of my marriage, or worse, impugn the character of a man who is not here to defend himself!"

"That worthless piece of shit wouldn't know honour if it bit him in the ass." His expression was stoic, but his words struck like an icy blade. He was out for blood—my husband's blood. "You have the nerve to accuse me of trying to intimidate you when you cower under the roof as a fucking wife-beater!"