He Got Engaged to His First Love On the Day I Died-Chapter 128: If I Die, Will You Be a Little Sad?

Chapter 128: Chapter 128: If I Die, Will You Be a Little Sad?

The woman was very agitated.

She was so thin, so pitiful, as fragile as a small white flower battered by a storm.

He could have let her see them.

But he couldn’t.

At least, not now.

"Don’t go crazy." He gripped her teetering shoulders and spoke to her with grave sincerity. "I promise you, I won’t make you wait too long, okay?"

"You think I’d still believe you?" She gave a bitter smile, tears streaming down her face. "Theodore Grant, I’ve already died once. I don’t want to die a second time. Can you please let me go? Let my family go?"

"No one is trying to kill you." He cupped her tear-streaked face, his tone somewhere between placating and commanding. "And I’m not refusing to let you and your family go. Some things, they’re just... Ah, HISS..."

She had suddenly bitten down hard on the web of his thumb.

He didn’t push her away, just let her bite.

Only when fresh blood stained her lips did she push him away in disgust.

Blood and teeth marks mingled, a mangled, bloody mess.

He quickly grabbed a tissue and pressed it to the wound. "Are you a dog or something?"

"You asked for it."

"I was trying to talk to you nicely, and you bite me like this?" There was a clear note of anger in his voice.

"Theodore Grant, I won’t believe a word you say. You’d better sleep with one eye open, or sooner or later, my knife will end up in your heart."

Her eyes were cold, her fury now uncontrollable.

The look in her eyes as she stared at him was screaming three words: ’I hate you’.

Deep helplessness filled his eyes. "Then who do you believe? That Felix Finch? You think he’s some kind of saint?"

"He isn’t, but you are?" ’He’s a piece of rotting meat himself, yet he insists on dragging Felix down with him.’ "At least he’s sincere, gentle, and knows how to respect people. What do you have?"

"He’s sincere? He’s gentle? Don’t you think he’s just putting on an act?" He took a step toward her, pinning her against the wall. "Have you known him longer, or have I? How much do you really know about him? Some things aren’t what they seem on the surface."

"Yes, I haven’t known him as long as you have, so what?" Exhaustion filled her eyes as she pulled her lips into a cold sneer. "I can still tell the difference between a good person and a bad one."

"You can’t tell shit." He couldn’t stop himself from swearing.

Natalie Morgan glared at him. "You’re right. It’s because I couldn’t tell the difference that I married a man like you—someone who can take a life without batting an eye."

"You..." He raised his hand.

Natalie Morgan tilted her small face up, meeting his gaze without a shred of fear. "What, did I say something wrong? Compared to Felix Finch, you’re not even worth a damn."

"So what." His large, bloodied hand gripped her chin. "In your heart, I’m the evil one, and he’s the good one?"

"What do you think?" The corner of her lip curled in a scornful taunt.

He was provoked.

The hand gripping her chin tightened. "So, if I’m the villain, I should act like one, right?"

The pain made her struggle.

"Are you going to rape me?"

"Would it even be rape? Don’t forget, we’re not divorced. You’re still my wife." He frowned slightly, staring at her intently.

Natalie Morgan laughed, her voice full of ridicule and disdain. "Has Mr. Grant forgotten? I already married an old man and even bore him a child. How could I still be your wife? Natalie Morgan died long ago. I’m Willow Childs now."

"I don’t care if you’re Natalie Morgan or Willow Childs. You’re my wife."

He kissed her.

His tongue forced its way past her clenched teeth, driving deep and almost completely cutting off her breath.

She twisted and struggled, trying to push him away.

Her small hands flailed, scratching wildly at his body, his face, his neck.

Soon, he was covered in scratches.

"Hiss..." He grabbed her wrists in pain, pinned them above her head, and continued to kiss her. "...You’ve turned into a little wildcat."

"Let go of me." Hatred filled her eyes.

"This is what villains do, Natalie Morgan. It’s the label you gave me."

He invaded her mouth forcefully, kissing her with a savage intensity.

When her struggles proved futile, the woman raised her leg to knee him in the groin, but unfortunately, she failed this time.

Defeated, she felt tears slide from the corners of her eyes.

He tasted the salt of her tears and let her go with a sigh, wiping them away for her. "What are you crying for? I didn’t even do anything to you."

"I thought... I thought that after finding some things out, you would change. But no. You’ll never change, you’ll never be different. You’re just born evil. Your only pleasure is in torturing me, torturing my family. Theodore Grant, you really should just die. The world would be a more peaceful place if you were dead."

She was cursing him.

His brow furrowed. Her words pierced his heart, and the light in his eyes dimmed.

He owed her.

He knew that better than anyone.

That was why, in the three years she was gone, he had desperately tried to finish some of the things she’d left undone.

He found a more specialized hospital to treat Thomas Morgan’s illness, sparing no expense.

She said he’d driven her father to suicide, so he investigated the truth behind Maxwell Morgan’s death.

He was desperately trying to atone for his past mistakes.

’Was he really that detestable?’

"I admit I’m not a good person, but I..."

"Theodore Grant." She tilted her small face up, a touch of despair in her sweet smile. "I will never forgive you. Not unless you die right here in front of me."

’Die?’

She said she wanted him to die.

The corner of his lip twitched into a barely perceptible, bitter smile.

He wasn’t afraid of death.

If she wanted his life, he would give it to her.

He was just a little heartbroken, that’s all.

He reached out, picked up a fruit knife from the table, and gently placed it in Natalie Morgan’s hand.

"If you really mean it, then do it. I’ll tell the police it was suicide."

The fruit knife felt heavy in her hand, its cold gleam hinting at a deadly sharpness.

The cold touch of the steel made her falter for a second.

But it was only for a moment; she quickly composed herself.

"You really think I don’t dare?"

"I won’t blame you." He was making a bet—betting that she didn’t hate him that much.

But he lost the bet.

There wasn’t a moment of hesitation or retreat in the woman’s cold eyes. The hand holding the knife moved with firm, resolute purpose, stabbing toward his abdomen.

In that instant, time seemed to freeze.

It stood still in that heart-stopping moment.

A flash of astonishment crossed Theodore Grant’s eyes. He had never expected her to be so decisive, so ruthless—to stab him without a shred of hesitation.

Although he managed to grab part of the blade, a wave of pain immediately swept through his entire body.

The woman’s pupils contracted sharply. As if burned, she let go of the handle and took two involuntary steps back.

The man clutched the knife, still warm from her touch. His tall frame instantly lost all its strength, and he collapsed to his knees with a THUD.

His eyes, which looked as if they’d been scorched by fire, held a complex mix of emotions as he gave a self-pitying, mocking smile.

"Pfft..." He spat out a mouthful of fresh blood.

The glaring red made Natalie Morgan’s heart lurch violently.

He struggled to lift his head and asked with a bitter tone, "If I die, will you be even a little bit sad?"