She Was Never Just the Wife novel Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Chapter 55

65 vouchers

The dull, relentless pounding shattered Beckham’s heavy sleep like a sledgehammer. He jolted awake. The first thing he felt was a splitting headache, a deep, throbbing pain pulsing through his skull.

His entire body ached, heavy and sore from overexertion-like he’d been torn apart and hastily put back together.

‘What the hell is going on?’ he thought groggily.

He forced his eyelids open. His vision stayed blurry for a few seconds before slowly coming into focus. The familiar ceiling. The minimalist chandelier. His master bedroom.

Fragments of last night surfaced through a haze, like pieces drifting in thick fog.

He was entertaining Colin, so he must have had too much to drink. His head had been spinning, his body burning. Laylah brought him home. ‘And then…

He instinctively turned his head toward the space beside him.

His breath caught.

Laylah was lying next to him.

Her deep chestnut hair was tangled across the pillow, a few damp strands sticking to her forehead and cheeks. Her eyes were closed, lashes still marked with faint traces of tears.

She didn’t look peaceful. Her brows were slightly drawn together, her entire expression fragile and exhausted -like someone who had been thoroughly ravaged.

The thin blanket only covered her up to her chest, leaving her smooth shoulders bare.

Dark red hickeys dotted her skin, along with faint bite marks. Her exposed arm showed reddish bruises, like the aftermath of a tight grip.

Beckham’s heart dropped. A chill ran down his spine. He yanked the blanket off himself. He was naked too.

His chest and abs, aside from the lingering discomfort of his hangover, told the same story-thin, stinging scratches raked across his skin, clear evidence of a wild, out-of-control night.

The knocking came again, louder and more urgent, tearing through the heavy silence.

Beckham’s temples throbbed, his head pounding like it might split open.

But what unsettled him most was the blank gap in his memory–and the cold, undeniable reality right in front of him. ‘What the hell did Laylah and I do last night?”

A storm of emotions-shock, regret, frustration-crashed over him all at once.

19:35 Mon, May 11 d

Chapter 55

47

E2 5b vouchers

Twisted up in it was a sharp, unexpected sense of disgust. Not toward Laylah, but toward the situation and the mess he’d made-the loss of control, the chaos, everything that came with it.

Almost instinctively, he reached for the nightstand, hoping to grab his phone-check the time, call someone, anything. But his fingers met nothing but cold wood.

Frowning, he scanned the room and finally spotted it on the carpet beside the bed. He picked it up pressed the power button. Nothing. Dead.

and

“Damn it.” Beckham muttered under his breath.

Irritated, he tossed the phone back onto the bed, his gaze drifting to Laylah. The movement seemed to disturb her.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, letting out a faint whimper, tugging the blanket higher as if trying to cover the marks on her body. But that only made everything harder to ignore.

Beckham squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers firmly against his temples.

He tried to force his way through the fog in his mind, but all he found were fragments-heated skin, ragged breathing, bodies tangled together, and the faint echo of a name, distant and barely there.

‘Was I imagining it?’

His eyes snapped open, his gaze dark and unreadable.

Even with his memory in pieces, his body-and the scene in front of him-told him enough. After more than three years, he had ended up with Laylah again.

But this time, it was a mess. Almost humiliating.

What weighed on him even more was how quickly another face forced its way into his mind. Celia. His ex- wife. Probably sleeping peacefully in her apartment right now.

An absurd, almost ridiculous feeling hit him out of nowhere-like he’d been tainted. Like he’d betrayed something. They were already divorced. She was the one who left first.

He didn’t understand why, lying here next to Laylah, thinking about how out of control last night had been, he felt like he owed Celia an apology.

The thought made him feel both ridiculous and pathetic. If Celia knew what was going through his head right now, she’d probably just give him that cold look of hers.

Or maybe her fiery friend Haley would snap, “Beckham, seriously? Like you’ve ever been squeaky clean.”

And she wouldn’t be wrong. He had been with Laylah before. Even after marrying Celia, during those cold, distant early years, he hadn’t exactly been a saint. But now, it felt different.

He couldn’t explain why, but this chaotic night felt like a stain-like it had smeared over something in him he’d only just started trying to clean up.

19:35 Mon, May 11 d

Chapter 55

55 vouchers

The knocking came again, so forceful it sounded like someone was about to break the door down, finally snapping the last thread of Beckham’s restraint.

“Who is it?” he growled, his voice hoarse and rough, thick with sleep and irritation. ‘Who the hell is banging on my door this early? Are they insane?’

He glanced at Laylah, still asleep, his brows tightly drawn. Right now, he had no idea how to face her.

Apologize? It would sound hollow. Comfort her? His mind was a mess-he couldn’t even steady himself. Ask about last night? He didn’t dare dig into what he might’ve done.

‘Better to avoid this for now.’

He pushed himself up stiffly, ignoring the ache in his muscles and the pounding in his head.

Bending down, he grabbed his wrinkled shirt and pants from the floor and pulled them on quickly. The faint scent of last night still clung to the fabric, making his irritation worse.

He walked to the door, then paused, glancing back one last time at the bed.

Laylah lay on her side with her back to him, the thin blanket outlining the gentle curve of her shoulder and back, rising and falling softly with her breathing as if she were fast asleep.

Beckham tore his gaze away, quietly turned the doorknob, stepped out, and softly closed the door behind him.

The hinge gave a faint sound as the door shut.

The moment it closed, Laylah-who had been lying perfectly still-slowly opened her eyes.

In truth, she had woken up almost at the same time as Beckham, when the first knock echoed through the

room.

The soreness in her body-and the lingering ache in certain places-was a harsh reminder of everything that had happened last night.

But she didn’t move. She lay there quietly, listening. To his startled awakening. His confusion.

The awkward way he threw off the blanket. His irritation as he searched for his phone. And the heavy, suffocating silence that stretched between them.

She could even feel his gaze lingering on her-shock, confusion, and maybe a trace of regret she didn’t want to think about.

As Beckham got up and dressed, Laylah remained perfectly still, pretending to be deeply asleep, though her eyes moved restlessly beneath her lids.

Fragments of last night replayed in her mind. When the drug fully took hold, Beckham’s eyes had clouded with desire, flickering with confusion, and a broken whisper brushed against her lips.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify