Three. Days.
Three damn days.
Not a peep. Not a call. Not a visit. Nothing. Utter radio silence. My days have been wrecked with bone shaking anger. My parents—who have tried talking to me, finding out what happened—now steered clear of me.
Even furniture steered clear of me.
He was disappointed?
He was disappointed in me?
How dare he. How. Dare. He.
I'm seething with anger. And I have no means to release it.
Of course, the means arrives at my doorstep.
On the fourth day, my phone vibrates. I look down at it and stare at the message for three whole minutes.
Knock knock It says.
I stand, my fists clenching as I stalk over to the window. My husband stands in a dark suit, leaning against his car, hands tucked in his pockets.
He's looking up and meets my eyes the same moment I arrive at the window.
His lips twist in a smirk and his head tilts in a little 'Come here.' gesture. The anger inside me boils and tips over. I storm out of my room and grab a vase on my way to the main door.
I pull the door open and chuck the vase straight in his direction. I don't wait to see where the vase lands as I slammed the door shut once more and stalk back to my room. My phone is ringing before I step into the room and I glare at it.
I'm ready to chuck it straight out the window. I'm fuming. The fury colours my vision and I truly understand the concept of seeing red.
"Mrs. Kri," Houston says, "Mr. Kri says he'd like to speak to you."
I'm about to suggest something very unladylike back to Houston, before I control myself.
"Ask him to come back three days later and I'll think about it." I say instead to her.
A brief pause. Before—
"Mrs. Kri, he would like to speak to you now. And directly."
"I have no interest in speaking to him," I growl out.
A knock on my door has me whipping around mid-sentence. I'm glaring at the door.
"Get out." I grit.
"Let me in, Alanna."
"No."
"We haven't spoken in three days."
I've taken a step forward, "Whose fault was that?"
I hear a mild sound as if he had dropped his head against the wood. I'm suddenly drawn closer to the door as well, my fingers pressed against it.
"Don't be mad." He says, so softly I just about hear it.
Tears clog my throat, this time anger and hurt tangling together and thickening my words.
"Wouldn't you have been?" I ask finally.
"Let me in, I'll tell you."
I swallow, "Is it easy for you? To say those things? To be that way? To hurt me?"
Silence.
"Let me in, Alanna."
I straighten, then say, "That's what you need to be doing. Not me."
YOU ARE READING
TimeBound (Time Tells #1) (COMPLETED)
Romance"Who says your life ends only when your heart stops? It ends even when there's a celebration around you." A marriage. To a man who had saved my parents' life. Their respect, their businesses, their home ... But at a cost. The cost being me. I was...
