Why the Crocodile Tears (by Flower Sock) novel Chapter 284

Gregory quietly tightened his grip around a small strand of hair. His face gave nothing away.

Anathea’s hair had always been beautiful–silky smooth and faintly fragrant. It was especially so when she stepped out of the shower. Damp strands would cascade over her shoulders, gleaming like liquid silk beneath the lights.

Just seeing that sight would stir something inside Gregory. It was like a taste of opium–once one got a taste of it, it was impossible to forget. The craving rising within him–left his throat parched.

For six long years, that dark desire had taken root in his heart, impossible to shake.

Especially after those intimate nights, when Anathea lay asleep beside him, Gregory would quietly turn over to face her. In the darkness, he would toy with her hair like he was addicted to the feel of it.

He always turned away at first, not out of disinterest, but because he was suppressing the storm of obsession surging inside him. He didn’t want Anathea to see it and think he had some strange hair fetish.

In truth, maybe he did. But only for Anathea.

And now, the long hair that had been soaked in sweat night after night beneath him for years had been pulled by another man.

Gregory, whose feelings toward Anathea had become increasingly unstable lately, couldn’t stay calm. A shadow fell across his eyes, and a dangerous glint flickered briefly in their depths.

Martin, who’d been working by Gregory’s side for years, picked up on the shift instantly. He turned around and quietly made a call. ..

“Hello, Dr. Anderson? It’s me. I think you might need to come by tonight. I’m afraid Mr. Sinclair might lose control.”

Anathea had no idea that a violent storm was brewing beneath Gregory’s calm exterior. She just felt something was off about him tonight. But she had no intention of wasting her thoughts on him.

She brushed his hand off. But Gregory kept staring at her.

Anathea exhaled and asked in confusion, “What are you looking at?”

Did she have something on her face?

“Why is there a red mark on your neck?” he asked.

“What?” Anathea blinked.

Gregory pointed to the spot and repeated, “Here. What happened?

Upon hearing that, she reached up to touch it. Only then did she realize it really was burning a little. “Oh. Must’ve gotten scraped during that scuffle earlier.”

But it wasn’t just a scrape. The patch of fair skin was flushed red, with the faint outline of a fingernail mark. It looked like the kind of mark she’d once left on him.

Gregory loved that kind of mark to the point of obsession. Yet now, another man had left that mark on Anathea’s neck.

His eyes narrowed slightly. It felt like a secret he’d carefully hidden for years had suddenly been found out by someone else.

The rain intensified, turning into sharp, pelting hail.

“Which hand did he use to touch you with?” he asked in a low voice.

Anathea was caught off guard by that question. She tried to recall. Right hand, I guess.”

“Damn it,” Gregory cursed under his breath.

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