A Night of Desire-Chapter 131: He Actually Didn’t Want to Hurt Her This Much

The truth was, Seth Quinn had started to regret his words the moment he’d said them.

Perhaps in the beginning, he had wanted to marry her out of physical desire and need. But now, he understood that was no longer the primary reason.

A moment ago, the thought of her silently loving Miles for three years—that she refused to be intimate with him because of Miles—had sent a wave of rage through him. The hurtful words had simply slipped out.

In truth, he hadn’t wanted to hurt her like this.

It was just that the thought of his own wife being in love with another man, refusing intimacy with him for another man’s sake... for a moment, he just couldn’t hold it in.

Seth Quinn stared for a moment at Clara Grant, her pale little face a mask of stubbornness and grim resolve. Then, he suddenly rose and moved off her.

He reached out to straighten her clothes, then stood up fully. Looming over her, he looked down at Clara Grant, whose eyes remained tightly shut, and said in a deep voice, "Since you’re not ready, I won’t force you. But my patience has its limits.

I can’t wait a year. I’ll give you three months at most, until A Lifetime of Splendor wraps. When that time comes, even if you still say you’re not ready, I won’t give you another chance to run.

However, I still hope that when the time comes, you won’t use ’not being mentally prepared’ as an excuse again, but will accept me of your own accord."

When he was done, he saw that Clara Grant still had no intention of opening her eyes. His cool features tightened into a slight frown, but he said nothing more. He bent down to pick up his car keys from the coffee table and turned toward the door.

Clara had wanted to open her eyes the moment Seth Quinn moved off her, but she hadn’t dared. She was afraid that if she did, the tears pooling in her eyes would come flooding out.

So she kept her eyes squeezed shut. It was only after Seth Quinn had finished speaking, after a moment of silence followed by the sound of the door clicking shut, that she slowly opened them.

Just as she’d expected, the moment she opened her eyes, the tears streamed down her face.

The crystal-clear teardrops fell one by one onto the sofa, instantly darkening a patch of the fabric.

After a moment, Clara Grant sat up and stared blankly at the closed door.

The tears continued to stream down her face. She didn’t know why she was crying. ’Am I hurt? He gives me everything I want, and I pay with my body. What are a few of his insults on top of that? It’s not like they can physically hurt me. What’s there to feel wronged about?’

’Am I scared? Maybe.’

’But what was I really afraid of? That he would actually take me without hesitation? Or was it that in the moment he stood up, I was suddenly afraid he was angry with me?’

’But why should I be afraid of him being angry? What does his anger have to do with me? What right does he even have to be angry? He’s the one who said such hurtful things—shouldn’t *I* be the one who’s angry?’

Clara Grant’s mind was a complete mess. She pulled her gaze from the door and looked down at herself. He had straightened her clothes, leaving no trace of how recklessly he had just treated her.

There was certainly no trace of how, under his relentless assault, she had become so utterly dazed and lost in passion.

’Actually, he probably wasn’t that angry, right? Otherwise, why would he have let me go so easily? Why would he have even been nice enough to fix my clothes?’

’Otherwise, why would he give me three months to get ready?’

As she thought about this, Clara Grant’s tears, for reasons she couldn’t explain, suddenly stopped. She sniffled, wiped her eyes, and turned to look at the first-aid kit on the floor.

It was as if that earlier scene—of her carefully treating his wound while he quietly let her—had been a complete illusion, something that had never happened at all.