**Chapter 98** "Avery! Have you forgotten whose wife you are?!" Elliot's voice thundered, fierce as a storm, as he clutched her small hands, anchoring them above her head with a grip that felt both possessive and oppressive. "I warned you to stay away from Charlie! Don’t push me to the limit!" In that moment, Avery felt an unsettling mixture of fear and familiarity. It had been a while since she'd seen Elliot in such a state—his irritation simmering just beneath the surface. His demeanor, though haunted by weakness, radiated a raw intensity that sent shivers down her spine. She knew that fighting back would only stoke the fire of his fury further; instead, she chose silence, lying there quietly for the sake of the children growing inside her. As the silence stretched, the oppressive weight of his gaze bore down upon her, making her heart race. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Elliot’s voice was laced with tension, his eyes flickering between anger and desperation. His fingers, usually so delicately tender, now traced her cheek and moved to brush her hair back, slipping behind her ears with an unsettling gentleness that contrasted with his earlier rage. “What do you want me to say? What do you wish to hear? Just tell me, and I’ll say it.” His ire seemed to evaporate, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability that made her heart ache. “Avery, am I really unforgivable?” His voice was no longer the growl of a beast but the whisper of a man laid bare, his words thick with an emotion that sent chills through her. His fingers tangled in her hair, cradling her face as if she were the only thing anchoring him to sanity. The warmth radiating from him enveloped her like a soothing balm, yet it was tinged with despair. “You’re not unforgivable.” Avery’s voice barely rose above a whisper, her facade dropping as emotion flooded her heart. “Elliot, you are incredible—everything about you is extraordinary… But all I crave is a peaceful life, so please, just let me go.” The spark of hope she had seen in his eyes dimmed, slowly extinguished by her words. The fight within him seemed to wane, and before she could catch her breath, he closed the distance between them, sealing her lips with his in a feverish kiss. Meanwhile, the soft knock of a bodyguard echoed through the quiet of the house. Laura, startled from her thoughts, opened the door and welcomed him inside. “Where’s Mr. Foster?” The bodyguard's demeanor shifted to alertness upon noticing the empty living room. Laura gestured toward the bedroom door. “In the room.” “Oh…” The bodyguard stood at the threshold, hesitating. He wanted to inquire when Elliot would emerge but quickly realized the question was pointless; only Elliot possessed that answer. “I made lunch. Would you like to eat? Where’s the other person with you? Call him in. We can dine together,” Laura offered, her tone warm and inviting. Yet, the bodyguard’s brow furrowed as he made his way toward the bedroom, pressing his ear against the door. Silence greeted him. “The house isn’t soundproof. If they’re talking, we’d hear it,” Laura comforted, her voice light. “Maybe he’s asleep. He’s still not well!” He sighed heavily. “The doctor advised against him leaving the house, but he insisted.” “Oh, don’t worry! He’ll be fine with us!” Laura responded cheerfully. “Where’s Avery?” the bodyguard asked suddenly, concern creeping into his voice. “She’s in there too,” Laura replied, oblivious to the unease that sparked in the bodyguard's heart. His mind raced with possibilities. “How long have they been inside?” “Maybe an hour? I stepped out for groceries, so I’m not sure when they went in,” she mentioned, moving back toward the kitchen. “If you’re not hungry, I’ll eat first.” But the bodyguard had lost his appetite. Avery and Elliot were trapped inside—a dangerous game of emotions at play. What if things had escalated? With unease swelling inside him, he pushed the bedroom door open, only to be met with an unexpected tableau. Elliot lay prostrate on the bed, his eyes shut and body still. Time stood still as he calculated the gravity of the scene unfolding before him. Avery stood beside the bed, a quilt draped awkwardly around her, too caught off guard to conceal her surprise at the intrusiveness of his entrance. “What did you do to Mr. Foster?!” The bodyguard’s voice sputtered with outrage as he strode to the bedside, reaching to check if Elliot still breathed. Avery, exasperated by his wild imagination, responded coolly, “He’s not dead; he’s just asleep.” Mortified, the bodyguard withdrew his hand and glanced again at Elliot, his discomfort growing. “Why did you strip him? This is unacceptable behavior!” “Don’t slander me! He took it off himself,” Avery shot back, her irritation flaring. “If you don’t believe me, ask him yourself when he wakes up!” The bodyguard gasped, his eyes narrowing on Avery, taking in the summer nightdress that clung to her, revealing far too much—hinting at the urgency of their earlier entanglement. “I’ll be outside!” he said brusquely, marching out of the room, leaving Avery burning with indignation. With frustration building, she perched on the edge of the bed, casting a sidelong glance at the man who was at once her husband and her tormentor, grappling with the turbulent emotions that engulfed her.