So what the hell was Quinn up to now?!
How could she bear to say the word 'husband', especially to him?!
"How much did you drink, woman?!" he bellowed. "Don't do it if you can't hold your liquor, and I'm never taking your crap—"
"Let's start over, Sam," Quinn suddenly said.
Her gaze, expression, and overall bearing was serious.
Sam's heart skipped a beat, and it felt like he was struck by something—it did not hurt, but it was a powerful feeling nonetheless and one that he could not begin to describe.
"We're married, so why don't we give each other a chance?" Quinn continued. "Let's move out of Saunders Mansion and stay somewhere else together and try to make this work, okay?"
Sam had to tell himself that this was not real, that he must never believe her—that she was just talking out of her butt.
How could she say something like making their marriage work when she could not wait to leave him?
She must have been doing very well for herself over the last three years, since she never visited him in prison.
Hold on, she actually did—he turned her down at the time.
But even if he told himself that she was just drunk, and he would be the one picking up the pieces in the end… he nodded.
For some accursed reason or another, he did it.
Quinn was drunk, right? She should not be able to see his reaction…
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