The Plane Tickets He Hoarded The Wife He Hid novel Chapter 147

jerked back, trying to wrench free, but his grip was unbreakable. “Let go-”

The world tilted as he swept me up, his arms locking around me like steel bands. Everyone was staring, but he didn’t seem to give a

damn.

“Zain, put me down! What the hell is wrong with you?”

His face stayed stone–cold as he strode off the lawn, carrying me like I weighed nothing. “Heidi,” he called over his shoulder. “Watch

Carry and Camila.”

“Yes, Mr. Jacob!” Heidi’s voice followed us, tight with concern.

I caught a glimpse of Camila trying to run after us before Dorian Austin caught her hand, stopping her.

I thrashed against Zain’s hold, but it was useless. His arms were like iron bars around me.

When he shoved me into the car, I managed to land one solid kick to his shin. He didn’t even flinch.

The locks clicked. He leaned over me, grabbing the first–aid kit from the back seat, his movements efficient and controlled.

He reached for my sleeve, but I knocked his hand away. “I can handle it myself.”

He pulled back but kept watching me with those intense eyes. “You’re a doctor. What happens if this gets infected because you’re being

stubborn?”

I shrugged off my jacket and rolled up my sleeve, meeting his stare head–on. “If it gets infected, I’ll deal with it. Since when do you care?”

Something flickered across his face before he looked away.

I worked quickly, cleaning and bandaging the wound while he sat there in tense silence. As I closed the kit, I felt his gaze burning into me

again.

His eyes had locked onto my left wrist–onto Vincent’s bracelet.

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His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “That’s from Vincent, isn’t it?”

He already knew the answer. We both did.

“Not your concern,” I said flatly.

His hand shot out, catching my wrist and lifting it between us like evidence of some crime. His grip was just shy of painful.

“I told you to stay away from him.”

I laughed, cold and sharp. “And I told you to stay away from Joanna. Guess we’re both disappointed.”

He released my wrist and turned away. “That’s different.”

“Different how?” I reached for the door handle. “Open this. I’m getting out.”

“No.” He turned back, his face a mask of controlled fury. “As long as we’re married, you’re still my wife.”

The irony almost made me laugh out loud. “Am I? Really?”

His expression didn’t change. “You’ve been with me for years. What else would you call it?”

The words hit like a physical blow. I kept my face blank, but inside, something twisted and broke.

“You think I still care about any of this?”

For once, he had nothing to say.

I shifted in my seat, suddenly exhausted. “You’re Carry’s father. At least pretend to care about her education.”

His eyes glittered with something cruel. “Funny how you have time for other people’s kids but none for your own.”

The accusation stung because it was so completely backwards. Carry barely tolerated me, while Camila actually seemed to care. But

explaining would be pointless.

“Zain.” I kept my voice level. “When are we filing for divorce? When does the cooling–off period start?”

His answer came swift and cold. “I already told you. We’re sleeping together one more time before any divorce papers get filed.”

Heat flashed through me–anger, disgust, something else I didn’t want to name. “You’re unbelievable.”

Before I could move, his hands were on me, pulling me across the seat into his lap. I threw my good arm up between us, creating a

barrier.

He studied me with predatory focus, then leaned in until his breath scorched my skin.

I shoved against his chest with everything I had, but he was immovable.

His forehead pressed against mine, his voice dropping to a taunting whisper. “How about right now?”

Fury blazed through me, white–hot and consuming.

He smiled, that cruel twist of his lips I’d grown to hate. “With all these people around? Want to give them a show?”

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My hand connected with his jaw in a sharp crack that echoed through the car. Pain shot through my palm, but his head barely moved.

When he looked back at me, his eyes were black with something dangerous.

In one fluid motion, he had me pinned against the seat, his body covering mine completely. His lips found my neck, my ear, leaving a trail of heat that made my skin burn.

“Zain, let me go! You’re insane!”

He ignored my struggles, his teeth grazing my earlobe in a way that made me gasp against my will.

My body betrayed me, trembling as his hand slipped under my shirt, fingers splaying across my waist with possessive heat.

I was trapped, helpless, tears of rage streaming down my face.

When his lips brushed the corner of my mouth, desperation gave me strength. I bit down on his cheek, hard enough to draw blood.

The copper taste flooded my mouth as he finally pulled back.

But he didn’t move away. He loomed over me, all shadows and dangerous angles.

He touched the bite mark, examining the blood on his fingertips with detached interest.

Then he laughed–low, mocking, completely without warmth.

Vincent had been pacing the lawn, worry eating at him. He couldn’t just stand there while Blanche was hurt and angry.

He followed the direction Zain had taken, his steps quickening with each passing moment.

When he finally caught up, what he saw through the car window stopped him cold.

Zain and Blanche were locked together in what looked like a passionate embrace, their bodies pressed close, lips meeting in desperate

hunger.

Vincent’s world tilted. The paintbrush in his hand snapped, forgotten pieces falling to the ground.

All his hope, all his careful planning, crumbled to dust in that single moment.

Blanche would always belong to Zain. No matter what Vincent did, no matter how much he sacrificed, her heart would never be his.

He’d known it from the beginning, hadn’t he? That Blanche loved Zain with everything she had.

All this time, he’d been the only one clinging to impossible dreams, the only one who couldn’t let go of a promise made so long ago.

He would have given her everything–his life, his future, his soul. But she might never even remember what he’d done for her.

To Blanche, Zain was the only man who mattered. The only one she could see.

Even knowing this, Vincent couldn’t walk away. He kept telling himself that maybe, someday, she’d remember their promise…

Maybe someday, she’d see him the way he saw her.

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