Page 105 of My Ruthless Husband

We were talking about Goldie when she begins asking about my next visit. I don’t give her a clear answer, just try to calm her down by promising I’ll visit soon. Of course, it backfires.

“Give me a date, River. Give me something!” she practically yells at me through the phone. I steal a glance at Vicky and find her face blank. But I know even she heard that.

Now, how do I tell Summer that by not meeting her, I’m protecting her. How do I tell her that avoiding her is the only way to keep her safe from the complications in my life? How do I explain that even though I yearn to see her as much as she does me, I can’t risk Damian using her against me.

“I can’t. But I will come to visit soon. I promise.”

“Is he… hurting you?” she asks, her tone filled with dread and protectiveness.

“No!” This time it’s me shouting. Then a sigh leaves me. “My husband is ruthless. He wouldn’t bat an eye before destroying someone’s life. He hurts me emotionally? Yes. But he’s never hurt me physically. Ever.”

It’s the absolute truth. Damian might have inflicted emotional wounds, a relentless assault on my spirit, but never has he laid a finger on me.

The conviction in my voice finally helped her relax. We continue chatting for few more minutes before ending the call on a rather happy note.

Vicky didn’t comment on that and silently led me to the car. Once inside, I can’t help asking, “Will you inform Damian about the phone call?”

Her hesitation speaks volumes and I sigh.

Vicky meets my gaze, her tone carefully measured. “River, I’ll inform Damian about the call, as I must. But don’t worry, I won’t disclose the details of your conversation.”

My eyes widen in shock. “Why?”

Summer was so loud that I’m sure Vicky heard what she thinks of my husband. Even from just listening to my side of the conversation, Vicky must have concluded that Summer was pushing me for answers regarding Damian. And that is something that Damian would want to know. And that would’ve landed Summer in trouble. So it’s really shocking that Vicky is willing to keep it to herself. After all, isn’t she his employee?

Vicky stares ahead as she pulls out of the driveway. “Because this doesn’t concern your safety. It was a harmless phone call to a friend.”

I furrow my brow. “But, doesn’t Damian order you to report everything to him?”

“Yes, he does,” Vicky admits. “But not every detail needs to reach his ears, especially when it’s not about preserving your well-being.”

My mouth opens and closes a few times, no words come to mind.

“Damian’s not my top priority, River.” She turns to look at me. “You are. When I started this job, I thought I’d be dealing with another wealthy wife, someone spoiled, needing protection from her own vices. But then I met you. You’re nothing like what I expected. I’ve seen the restrictions you live with, that’s when my loyalty shifted.” Genuine admiration for me is evident in her eyes.

“B-but how can you be so sure that I’m genuine? That I don’t deserve all these restrictions Damian has imposed on me?”

“Because I saw the haunting pain in your eyes.”

“I’ve been told I have sad eyes.”

She shakes her head. “I can tell the difference.” Then she shocks me into silence again when she says, “because I see something similar in the mirror every day.”

Then she continues speaking as if she hadn’t just revealed something profound.

“I had my speculations about why Damian wanted you guarded 24/7. I thought it was yet another tired husband being suspicious about her wife’s… activities behind his back. But, as I got to know you, the idea of him doubting your fidelity just didn’t add up,” Vicky explains, “I may not know why Damian wants you guarded around the clock, but I do know this—I’m here to protect you. Not just out of obligation, but because you’ve got an ally in me,” she says, a glint of support in her eyes.

Her words hit me with such force that tears pool in my eyes. “Thank you, Vicky,” I manage to choke out. “For believing in me, for seeing beyond the surface. It means more than words can say.”

Vicky tentatively covers my hand, and it’s then that I become aware of the tears streaming down my face. She slowly pats my hand and offers a small, awkward smile. “Apologies if I’m terrible at this comforting thing. But hey,” she says as we stop at the red light and then extends her hand, “tissues are on me, all right?”

Her attempt at humor is funnier than the joke. I chuckle through my tears. “Thanks,” I reply, thanking her for everything.

???

Patricia, a sweet woman in her mid-forties, smiles brightly as she sees us enter. She waves us over. “Well, look who it is! Our favorite duo has arrived.”

Blushing, I walk over to the front desk. “Hi, Patricia,” Vicky nods awkwardly in greeting, mirroring my own flustered state. Then we lift the coffee cups carrier we’ve been carrying higher.

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