Mr. Villain's Lovely Wife

Chapter 65

Calen groaned as he sat up, the dull ache in his temples making his head feel heavier than usual. Blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, he reached instinctively for the glass of water on the nightstand. His fingers. froze mid–reach. He didn’t remember putting it there.

Frowning he grabbed the glass and took a tentative sip. The cool water soothed his dry throat, but a flicker of confusion lingered inside him. Then he froze. Izzy. She always left water beside his bed, something he had teased her about in the past. She insisted it was good practice.

For the first time in days, he felt a small surge of hope. His feet hit the floor as he stood abruptly, the faint aroma of something cooking drifting through the air. Porridge. His heart leaped. It had to be her. She was back.

Calen all but ran out of his room, his excitement palpable as he hurried down the hall. “Izzy?” he called, his voice echoing faintly in the quiet house. The kitchen door was ajar, and he pushed it open with anticipation. “Izzy!?”

But the figure standing at the stove wasn’t Izzy.

“Good morning, Calen,” Monica said, turning with a bright smile. She was dressed casually, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Her expression didn’t falter as she noticed the scowl that darkened his face. “You’re up early.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked. He glanced around, searching for any sign of Izzy, but the room was empty except for Monica and the bubbling pot on the stove. His fingers tightened around the glass in his hand.

Monica sighed and placed the wooden spoon on the counter. “I found you passed out on the couch last night,” she said matter–of–factly. “You reeked of alcohol, Calen. It wasn’t a good look.”

“You dragged me to my room?” His tone was laced with irritation, his headache worsening by the second.

She nodded, crossing her arms. “Of course, I wasn’t going to leave you there. Oh, I made some porridge. When I was-”

“What the hell are you doing here, Monica?” Calen’s glare hardened. “You were not supposed to be here. And this“-he gestured around the kitchen-“is crossing the line.”

She tilted her head, her expression shifting to something close to mock offense. “Crossing the line? I was helping you. You were completely out of it. Honestly, you should thank me.”

“Thank you?” he snapped, his voice rising. “For what? Breaking into my house?”

Monica’s lips twitched into a smirk, though she quickly masked it with feigned innocence. “Breaking in? Don’t be dramatic. I used the key you gave me. Remember?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the small silver key, holding it up as if to prove her point. “When you were fucking me? Or did you forget about that too?”

fingerprint in his locking system. He didn’t want Izzy to see it. He had given her that key months ago, back when their working relationship had been… different. A time when he hadn’t fully realized the chaos she could bring

the key, and she slipped it back into her pocket with an easy shrug.

not giving it back,” she said, her tone light but her gaze challenging. “Not

What could you possibly have to say

edge in her expression hardening into something more resolute. She took a step

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[11

Jan

Chapter 65

right now? There is no us. There never was.

I’ve been here for you,

voice was cold, cutting through her words. “Get

voice low. “Izzy’s not coming back and both of us know

concern.” He pointed toward the door. “Leave.

at him with disbelief. Then she snorted. “And here I thought you’d be glad to hear that you

just say?” he asked, wondering if he

answer, Monica snorted and started walking away.

are you talking about!?” he hissed as he

his hand.

pregnant, Calen. You and I

grip on the glass tightened until he thought it might shatter. “You’re lying,” he said. His stomach churned as he took a step toward her. “Don’t you fucking lie to me! This

She took a cautious step back, her arms wrapping around

Calen said, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. “You’re trying to trap

long strides, his hands gripping her shoulders firmly. “Say it,” he demanded. His fingers dug into

winced, trying to twist out of his grasp. “Let me go,” she pleaded.