He Got Engaged to His First Love On the Day I Died-Chapter 19: Don’t Touch Me

It was true Natalie Morgan was out to earn money, but she wouldn’t do it if it meant being humiliated. "You should find someone else, sir."

She tried to leave, but Marcus Sawyer straightened up and blocked her path. He looked her up and down, his gaze filled with scorn and disrespect.

"Don’t act so high and mighty. Every one of us here is worth a fortune. If you dare to offend us, do you think you’ll still have a future in Riverden?"

As Marcus Sawyer’s threat hung in the air,

Natalie Morgan finally raised her eyes to look at the other men in the private room.

When her eyes landed on Theodore Grant’s face, she froze for a split second.

A mocking smile played on his lips as he toyed with a solid gold lighter, flicking it open and shut. He looked like nothing more than a spectator.

A sharp pang went through her heart.

She turned and looked at Marcus Sawyer, her expression cold.

"So, you can afford to pay for any number of drinks I have?"

"I always keep my word," Marcus Sawyer declared, slapping his chest. "I might not have much else, but I’ve got money to burn."

"Get the money."

The shot glasses were arranged in ten rows of ten.

The money was laid out in one hundred stacks of ten thousand each.

All of it was cash Marcus Sawyer had just had someone bring over.

Gavin Gable, afraid Marcus was taking things too far, whispered a reminder, "She’s Theodore’s wife. You’d better watch it."

"They’re about to get divorced. That makes her a soon-to-be-ex-wife."

In any case, Theodore Grant hadn’t said a word. In Marcus Sawyer’s mind, that was all the confirmation he needed about the state of Theodore and Natalie’s relationship.

"Look, lady. This is a million. You take what you earn. Drink up, and don’t you dare say I’m bullying you."

’There was no turning back.’

The liquor was bitter and burned, numbing the tip of her tongue, but Natalie Morgan couldn’t afford to offend these rich heirs of Riverden.

She wasn’t a drinker, but running on the blind courage of the uninitiated, she downed five glasses in one go.

Marcus Sawyer exclaimed in surprise, "Damn, impressive. This stuff is over a hundred proof."

Natalie Morgan gripped the edge of the table, her body swaying unsteadily. "I can still drink," she slurred, her head spinning.

As she reached for another glass, Marcus Sawyer grabbed it first. "Call me ’Big Brother,’ and I’ll drink for you. The money will still be yours."

He slung an arm around Natalie’s shoulders, his hand sliding down her back to rest on her slender waist.

The softness of her body sent a jolt through him.

Just as he was about to tighten his grip, Gavin Gable came over and pulled his hand away. "If you don’t want to die, keep your hands to yourself," he warned in a low voice.

"Theodore isn’t saying a thing, so why don’t you mind your own business?"

"You’re digging your own grave. Don’t say I didn’t warn you."

No matter how bad things were between the couple, Theodore Grant was still a man.

’How could a man of his stature tolerate his own woman being publicly humiliated like this?’

Gavin Gable glanced back at Theodore Grant.

The mocking look on his face had vanished. His dark eyes narrowed, a cold light glinting within them.

Natalie Morgan shoved Marcus Sawyer away, grabbed another glass, and threw it back in one go.

She struggled to keep her eyes open.

But her eyelids were too heavy. A fire burned in her stomach, making her feel awful.

She swayed on her feet.

Marcus Sawyer saw his chance and moved to grab her.

But Theodore Grant’s leg shot out, sending him flying across the room.

"What, you think I’m dead?" he spat, then grabbed a chair and brought it crashing down on Marcus Sawyer’s head.

Marcus Sawyer threw up an arm to block it.

The chair crashed against his arm before landing heavily on his head.

Theodore Grant never held back.

The impact split Marcus Sawyer’s head open. Blood began to gush from the wound.

Fearing someone would get killed, Gavin Gable rushed to grab Theodore from behind. "Theodore, calm down! Your wife is drunk. Why don’t you take her home? I’ll deal with this punk for you."

Gavin Gable’s words snapped him back to his senses.

He turned his head to look at the woman passed out on the table, then jabbed a threatening finger at Marcus Sawyer.

Natalie Morgan was drunk.

Dead-drunk and unconscious.

After Theodore carried her into the car, she was still talking in her sleep.

"I can drink more... I’ll have another," she mumbled, smacking her lips.

Theodore Grant’s expression was grim.

She was so soft and pliant in his arms that he found it impossible to stay angry with her.

His large hand came to rest on her head, stroking her soft hair.

She shifted uncomfortably, and her hair parted, revealing the shocking scar from her stitches.

It was his handiwork.

He couldn’t name the feeling that stirred inside him, but his gaze on Natalie grew deep and complex.

In their two years of marriage, she had always been so docile.

Even when rumors about him and Wanda Lynch were flying everywhere, she had still looked at him with affection and tolerance.

A fresh wave of irritation washed over him.

He pinned her down and moved to kiss her lips.

The sudden weight on her body made Natalie struggle to lift her heavy eyelids. She began to push at him blindly.

"Don’t move," he growled, holding her still.

"Theodore Grant... you... don’t touch me." Her stomach was churning, and his movement made her retch, spewing a mouthful of alcohol all over him.

The stench of alcohol instantly filled the car.

He hauled her out of the car in disgust and took off his vomit-stained jacket. "If you can’t hold your liquor, then don’t drink! Didn’t you see that son of a bitch putting his hands all over you?"

"Money’s hard to earn, and life’s even harder. For a lowlife like me, as long as I get paid, I don’t mind being taken advantage of."

She hugged her knees, her tone somewhere between self-mockery and resignation.

She vomited another mouthful of alcohol, and her stomach roiled with discomfort.

Theodore was furious with her. He grabbed a bottle of mineral water and started pouring it into her mouth.

He made her drink half the bottle, then poured the rest directly over her head.

"Now, you are going to sober up."

Her hair was soaked through. The autumn wind swept over her skin, and the chill raised a thick layer of goosebumps.

"What makes you any different from them?" ’The same bullying, the same humiliation.’

Natalie Morgan staggered to her feet and swayed unsteadily as she tried to hail a taxi.

A taxi stopped for her, but just as she reached for the door, the driver caught sight of Theodore Grant’s terrifying glare. Not wanting any trouble, he sped off with a WHOOSH.

"Hey, wait! Don’t go!" Natalie took two steps after it, then gave up and tried to hail another car.

When one wouldn’t stop, she’d try for the next.

But no taxi would stop for her.

Theodore Grant grabbed her by the collar and dragged her back to his car. "Just stay put."

"Don’t touch me." She recoiled as if he were something filthy, trying to put distance between them. "I want to go home."

She murmured.

She swayed for a moment before collapsing onto the curb.

Theodore Grant’s phone rang.

It was Wanda Lynch.

"Theodore, I have a fever. I feel awful."

"Isn’t Mrs. Wallace looking after you?" he asked, irritated, and yanked the button at his collar open. "If it’s serious, call an ambulance."

"You think I’m annoying you, don’t you? I’m sorry, I won’t bother you again. I’ll leave right now. I’ll go back to my empty home, with no parents and no family. I’ll just go..."

On the other end of the line, she began to sob quietly.

Theodore’s irritation spiked. He glanced down at the woman on the steps, then forced some patience into his voice. "Have Mrs. Wallace find you some medicine to take. I’m on my way back."

"Okay." Her voice on the other end was weak and obedient.

Theodore Grant hung up and nudged Natalie with his foot. "Get up. You’re coming back with me."