Breaking Point of Divorce (Hugh and Bethan) novel Chapter 227

Chapter 227 Sleeping on the Couch

Hugh glanced at Bethan and drew in a deep breath to steady himself.

When dinner ended, Arthur drove Barry home, the Keating butler came to collect James, and Mason went upstairs.

The house fell quiet, leaving only Hugh and Bethan.

Bethan began clearing the card table. Hugh stepped forward to help, his gaze fixed intently on her face.

“Does Arthur go to your parents’ place often?” he asked.

Bethan dodged the question. “Megan’s been dragged through the mud for days after that livestream scandal. Maybe your son’s been dragged into it too. You should check.”

Hugh caught her wrist, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to talk to me with this kind of bitterness. I only have one home and it’s here.”

Bethan pouted, “Your grandfather gave me a hard time last week. I argued with him, and he got so worked up that he ended up in the hospital. I don’t know if he’s been discharged. yet. Shouldn’t you stop by Cavill Manor first?”

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Hugh’s self-control slipped.

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His voice turned cold. “It’s the middle of the night, Bethan. Exactly where are you trying to push me?”

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Bethan covered a yawn, clearly exhausted. “Don’t get upset. I was just reminding you out of kindness.”

Then she added, “You’ve been on a plane for hours. You must be exhausted. Go get some rest.”

She turned toward the bedroom, but Hugh caught her around the waist and pulled her back.

His voice was low. “How long are you planning to keep me sleeping on the couch?”

Their eyes locked.

Bethan pointed toward the smaller guest room. “If you want, I’ll move into that one. You can take the master bedroom.”

Her casual tone snapped something in Hugh.

He bent down, scooped her up, and set her firmly on the card table.

Dressed in black trousers and a white shirt, his tall frame

looked even more striking, the tailored cut emphasizing every

hard line of his body.

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Leaning in, one hand pressed into the table beside her while the other clamped around her waist, he trapped her completely beneath him.

Their breaths mingled in the charged silence.

Bethan braced her hands behind her, her gaze wary and tense.

“Let’s talk about this,” she whispered nervously. “Put me down first.”

Hugh’s hand slid higher at her waist, his eyes fixed on her lips. His voice softened without him realizing it. “It’s been weeks. Did you miss me?”

The question caught her off guard.

She froze, then snapped back at him, “Hugh, what is wrong with you? That’s the kind of thing you should be asking-”

The rest of her protest was cut off as Hugh crushed his mouth against hers.

His palm cradled the back of her head, giving her no room to

retreat.

His lips moved against hers, insistent yet aching, torn between restraint and hunger.

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Whether she missed him or not didn’t matter.

He missed her.

He missed the thoughts in her heart, the sound of her voice, and the feel of her body.

His hand slid beneath her shirt, unclasping her bra with practiced ease.

He held her tightly, kissing her with a fevered desperation, his ragged breaths betraying the desire he’d kept bottled up too long.

Bethan felt the shift in his body, panic jolting through her. She struggled against him.

His kisses grew more demanding, trailing lower, intent on taking more. And then her stomach lurched. “Ugh—”

Bethan shoved him away, gagging as she nearly slid off the

table.

Hugh’s expression darkened as he caught her before she fell.

Before he could speak, she pushed him off and bolted for the bathroom.

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Minutes later, Hugh crouched beside her with a glass of water in one hand and tissues in the other.

Bethan clung to the toilet, retching until her whole body trembled with sweat.

He held the glass toward her. “Rinse your mouth. If this doesn’t pass, I’m taking you to the hospital for a full check-up.”

She rinsed, splashed cold water on her face, then leaned against the sink.

“I’m fine,” she muttered. “Just go. Give me some space.”

In the mirror, their eyes met—his gaze steady, hers evasive.

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