Dear Ex-wife Marry Me

Fitch watched as tears streamed down Zoey's face, her grief painted in wet streaks, a sight he found curiously novel. Had she ever cried like this in front of him before? Most of the time, her pain was a silent battle, communicated only through the intensity of her gaze. Love and grievance were hidden deep within her eyes, yet she rarely shed tears.

Now, as she lay sobbing on the bed, Fitch felt a mix of empathy and a deep, shameful thrill. He was the only one who could reduce her to this state. It had always been the case, and it seemed nothing had changed. The ominous aura that had surrounded him dissipated, and he refrained from continuing his advances.

Just as Zoey began to feel relief, she felt his hand press down through the fabric, sending shockwaves through her body and flushing her cheeks crimson. "Freak! Lunatic! Let go of me! Go to hell!" Her words came out in a desperate flurry, like a cornered animal lashing out in panic. Yet, even in her distress, "lunatic" was the harshest term she could muster.

Fitch remained silent, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Zoey, still trembling with rage and feeling him press down again, fell silent, a testament to the old adage that discretion is the better part of valor. Her coat was gone, her shoes kicked off, and Fitch pulled the blanket over them both.

Zoey breathed a sigh of relief. Even without going further, there were countless ways he could humiliate her. She was grateful he stopped; otherwise, she dreaded what morning would bring. Fitch lay beside her, his gaze fixed on her in the dimly lit room. From his angle, he could see her clenched jaw and the silent defiance on her face. Adorable, he thought, noticing her chest heave with suppressed anger. Slowly, he reached out and took her wrist, feeling her clenched fist. If she thought she could win, she probably would have hit him. Bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed her knuckles. He noticed her disgust intensify, making her seem even more repulsed. Fitch's lashes fluttered down as he bit gently along her fingertips.

Zoey's voice was laced with restraint, "Mr. Haskins, weren't we going to sleep?" Lunatic! She vowed to call the police as soon as she could contact the outside world. Fitch, seemingly oblivious to her plans, spoke softly, "Can't sleep."

"Why don't you go bother Nolan? He probably needs you more." She mentioned Nolan, hoping to appeal to his conscience. Fitch knew her tactics were just a ploy to get rid of him. "Ms. March, can't you tell me a story? Help me fall asleep."

Zoey cursed under her breath,

fuming. Even the most patient

person would lose their temper withCcontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

such a madman. After crying and cursing, she realized she was powerless against him. He was wealthy, powerful, and the entire city of Zion seemed to bend to his will.

Fitch's gaze remained on her, fully aware of her frustration. He found solace in her anger, a twisted preference over the indifference she usually showed him. Pulling out a book he used to read to Nolan, he offered it to her. "Just read from this."

Seeing the cover labeled "Fables," Zoey fought the urge to hurl the book at his face, wishing she could knock him out with it. She felt humiliated, refusing to speak. Fitch's

LAY

hand moved threateningly. "I have other ways to fall asleep." The threat was clear.

What a scumbag! A complete jerk! Zoey clenched the book so tightly she nearly tore it apart.