He Got Engaged to His First Love On the Day I Died-Chapter 22: You Still Dare to Talk Back

Headlights swept across the floor-to-ceiling windows.

A moment later, the man strode in.

Wanda Lynch, who had been so imperious just moments before, picked up the hot bowl, her voice catching in a sob. "Natalie, this soup is too hot. Can I let it cool a bit before I eat? It’s really scalding. I can’t swallow it. Please, I’m begging you."

As she spoke, right before Theodore Grant’s eyes, the soup bowl fell and shattered on the floor.

His gaze immediately fell upon Wanda Lynch’s delicate hands, which were scalded bright red.

’The Academy should create a special Oscar just for Wanda Lynch,’ Natalie Morgan thought. ’It would be a crime against her acting talent otherwise.’

The man’s dark eyes narrowed. He strode over and took Wanda Lynch’s hand. "Are you alright?"

Wanda Lynch shook her head, tears in her eyes. "I’m fine, Theodore. Don’t blame Natalie. She just wanted me to have something warm to eat. It’s not her fault. Please, don’t blame her."

Theodore Grant’s jaw tightened. His gaze shifted from the shattered bowl on the floor to the butler.

"Is there more?"

"Y-yes, there is, sir." The butler was so afraid of Theodore Grant that she didn’t dare lift her head.

"Get me a bowl, fresh from the pot."

The butler sensed trouble but didn’t dare say a word, quickly scurrying into the kitchen.

A bowl of Osmanthus Ball soup, steaming and still simmering, was placed in front of Theodore Grant. "Sir, here it is."

His gaze, as cold as ice, landed on Natalie Morgan.

"Drink it. Right now. Let’s see if you can get it down."

Natalie Morgan looked up at him, a sense of absurdity washing over her. "Why should I?"

"I thought you were the expert at bullying people." He picked up the soup bowl and pressed it into Natalie’s hands. "Does it feel good, bullying someone?"

The bowl was scalding hot.

Natalie couldn’t stand the heat and was about to set the bowl down.

Theodore Grant’s voice was sinister. "If you dare drop that bowl, you’ll face the consequences."

The man was clearly determined to get justice for Wanda Lynch.

Meanwhile, Wanda Lynch was tearfully pleading for Natalie’s sake. "Theodore, don’t do this. Natalie has such delicate skin. She’s not like me, a little burn is nothing. Please, let her put it down, okay?"

But no matter how much she could endure, Natalie was still made of flesh and blood.

CRASH.

The bowl, full of soup and Osmanthus Balls, fell to the floor and shattered.

Natalie’s palms were scalded bright red.

Her brow furrowed in pain.

She ran into the washroom, hoping to soothe the pain with cold water.

The butler quickly turned to find some ice.

As if still not satisfied, the man strode into the washroom, grabbed her by the wrist, and dragged her upstairs.

The bedroom door was slammed shut.

It was a clear sign: whoever was inside was not to be disturbed by anyone outside until they emerged on their own.

"You dared to drop the bowl? Natalie Morgan, can you really handle the consequences?"

Natalie’s lips twisted into a disappointed sneer. "And what if I can’t? You take out your anger on me without even bothering to learn the truth. Do you really see yourself as some champion of justice?"

"You dare talk back."

He grabbed her and threw her onto the large bed...

When it was over, she ignored everything else, scrambled into her clothes, and walked out.

Wanda Lynch’s eyes went red with jealousy. Seeing the faint and dark marks on Natalie’s neck made her want to scream.

Seeing how pale Natalie looked, the butler came over to support her. "Ma’am, are you alright?"

"Ms. Wallace, help me... help me..." The pain was too much to bear. She squatted down, clutching her stomach tightly. "...Call a cab for me."

"But Mr. Grant..."

The butler was in a bind. She was just a servant and was afraid of angering Theodore Grant.

If he got angry, every servant in the Grant Residence would suffer.

"Mrs. Wallace, if the bitch wants to leave, just let her. All she does is stay here and seduce men anyway," Wanda Lynch’s shrill voice cut in.

The butler glanced at Wanda Lynch, hesitated for a few seconds, and said, "I’ll go call a car for you, then."

The woman rested on the floor for a moment, then took a painkiller from her bag and swallowed it dry. Once she felt a little better, she pushed herself up and started walking toward the door.

Wanda Lynch’s sarcastic voice piped up. "You really go to great lengths just to get Theodore to sleep with you. Have you no shame?"

"Wanda Lynch, if you’re so capable, then get Theodore to sleep with you. If not, then shut your mouth."

It was as if Natalie had struck a nerve. Wanda Lynch’s voice shot up an octave. "Natalie Morgan, what are you so proud of? You’re no different from a prostitute. And you still pretend to be so high and mighty? Who the hell do you think you are?"

Natalie was in too much pain.

She didn’t want to get into a war of words with Wanda Lynch.

Clutching her stomach, she was just about to leave when the man came down from upstairs. "Where are you going?"

He looked refreshed and composed, as if a paragon of virtue.

It was as if the sordid affair in the bedroom had never happened.

"Home."

She didn’t want to answer him, but she had to.

He came down the stairs and took Natalie’s hand. He glanced at her palm, which was still red. In some places, tiny blisters were already forming.

"I’ll take you."

"Don’t bother." Natalie coldly shook his hand off, her expression full of disgust. "I already asked Ms. Wallace to call a cab."

"I wasn’t asking for your opinion."

Seeing that Theodore Grant was about to leave, Wanda Lynch leaned on her crutch and grabbed his arm. She urged him magnanimously, "Theodore, you should take Natalie. Her hand looks badly hurt. Maybe you should take her to the hospital for some ointment. Don’t worry about me. My hand is fine."

So magnanimous and understanding.

Wanda Lynch played the part to perfection.

She knew exactly how to manipulate Theodore Grant.

It made Natalie sick to her stomach.

Theodore Grant gazed at her with a mixture of admiration and pity, gently patting her arm. "Get some rest."

"Okay."

The butler had just called a car to the gate of the Grant Residence.

Just then, Theodore Grant walked out, leading Natalie by the hand.

"Sir, Ma’am." Seeing Theodore Grant, the butler quickly bowed respectfully. "The taxi is here."

"Butler, send the taxi away. I’ll take her," Theodore Grant said.

The butler paused for a second, then quickly replied, "Yes, sir."

Once in Theodore Grant’s car, Natalie didn’t ask where they were going.

’Sometimes, she wished they’d get into a car accident.’

’He would die, she would die. The slate would be wiped clean, and they would never have to see each other again, not even in the next life.’

"We’re going to the hospital to see Grandfather first," he said.

Her expression remained blank as she stared out the window.

He shot her a sideways glance. "Grandfather is being discharged tomorrow. As his granddaughter-in-law, you have a duty to pay him a visit."

"No blood transfusion?" ’She thought they were going to drain her dry this time for sure.’

Theodore Grant replied coolly, "Not right now."

"When, then?"

He gave her an impatient, irritated look. "Are you that eager to have all your blood drained?"

"Does it matter if I want to or not? At least if you tell me when you’re going to take my blood, I can get my affairs in order."

’She had to make arrangements for her mother.’

’She also had to go see her brother one more time.’

’After her last visit, she had gone to Unity Hospital every Friday, waiting for visiting hours to start.’

’But she was never allowed in again.’

"Theodore Grant, after you’ve drained all my blood... can you please let Thomas Morgan go?"