You Scorned My Love, So Why Are You Kneeling When I Asked for a Divorce?

He’d been quite restrained the few times they’d been together before, but this time, he hadn’t held back.

For one, the alcohol was too strong. For another, she had been crying too hard.

That pitiful, fragile appearance was more than enough to awaken the primal instincts buried deep within a man.

So, the more fiercely she cried, the rougher he became.

Holly Sinclair was a complete mess.

She couldn’t discuss such a topic with him so casually, without her face flushing and her breath catching.

"Is it that bad?"

Seeing her stare silently out the window, Tristan Sterling reached out a long arm and pulled her directly onto his lap.

His hands began to wander.

"Tristan Sterling, what are you doing?"

Holly Sinclair was shocked and instinctively gripped his wrist tightly.

"Don’t move!" he ordered softly.

"What are you trying to do..." she hissed, frantically glancing toward the driver’s seat.

Thankfully, the partition in the middle had been raised at some point, creating a small, private space in the back.

"I’m just taking a look," he said, calm and composed.

"Tristan Sterling!" she seethed, her face flushing red.

’Look?’

’What is there to look at?!’

"If you’re worried Greg can’t hear you, feel free to shout louder," he snorted.

Holly Sinclair froze, subconsciously glancing toward the driver, Greg, again.

In that moment of distraction, his hand advanced further.

"Don’t touch me!"

Furious, she instinctively tried to pull his hand away.

"Is there any part of you, from head to toe, that I haven’t touched?"

But her struggling hand was caught by his other, and she was even subjected to his verbal taunts.

Every word dripped with intimacy.

Holly Sinclair was filled with a mixture of anger and hatred, but the disparity in their strength was too great; she couldn’t break free at all.

Just as Tristan Sterling was going too far, a surge of rage welled up in her chest, and she suddenly shoved him hard.

And while she was at it—

SLAP.

A slap landed squarely on his face.

It didn’t hurt much, but the humiliation was off the charts.

The man’s face instantly darkened.

The air froze.

For a moment, Holly Sinclair was completely stunned.

She hadn’t done it on purpose; it was just a reflex born of desperation.

"You hit me?"

Tristan Sterling’s dark eyes narrowed dangerously as he squeezed the words out from between his teeth with a sinister chill.

His face had never been struck by anyone before.

She was the first!

"I didn’t—"

Her words died in her throat.

Faced with the man’s death glare, Holly Sinclair was about to explain, but then a thought stopped her. ’Why should I explain?’

’So what if I hit him? What’s he going to do about it!’

’It was his own fault for going so overboard with me!’

’We’re getting a divorce, and he’s still bullying me like this. Why shouldn’t I be able to fight back?’

With that thought, Holly Sinclair was no longer afraid.

She straightened her back and met his cold gaze.

Seeing her acting so self-righteously without a hint of remorse, Tristan Sterling’s rage ignited, and that small ripple of feeling in his heart vanished without a trace.

"Stop the car!"

He lowered the partition and ordered Greg.

Greg quickly pulled the car over to the side of the road.

"Get out!"

Tristan Sterling roared.

Without a second word, Holly Sinclair clutched her bag, pushed open the door, and briskly got out of the car.

’Get out? Fine by me!’

She couldn’t have been happier.

Tristan Sterling deliberately didn’t tell Greg to drive off immediately, because he was waiting for Holly Sinclair to give in.

If she just said something soft, or showed a better attitude, he would agree to let her back in.

In the past, whenever he’d made her get out of the car, she would always stand outside, looking at him pitifully.

Showing her weakness to him.

So he was confident that today would be no exception.

However—

Holly Sinclair got out of the car, turned, and walked away.

It was crisp and decisive, without a trace of reluctance or hesitation.

She didn’t even glance back at him once.

Tristan Sterling stared intently at Holly Sinclair’s stubborn back as she walked away without a backward glance.

His face was darker than ever.

...

After packing her luggage, Holly Sinclair took a shower and prepared to rest.

She was wearing a red silk nightgown. It was backless, alluring, and seductive.

It wasn’t that she deliberately chose to wear something like this; it was just that in the past two years of trying to please Tristan Sterling, all her nightgowns were of this risqué, sexy type.

Sitting at her vanity, she lowered her head, using a hairdryer on the wet hair at the nape of her neck.

Her entire snow-white back and slender, swan-like neck were exposed to the air.

Tristan Sterling entered the bedroom at that exact moment.

The first thing he saw was Holly Sinclair’s back, exposed down to her waist. Her fair skin, set against the vibrant red, looked as smooth as jade and exquisitely delicate.

The visual impact was overwhelming.

Utterly enticing.

The scene from that night immediately flashed through Tristan Sterling’s mind...

Her crying and trembling, his reckless abandon.

It had been utterly ecstatic.

Before, it had only been a physical need. But that night, he’d gotten a taste of something exquisite and found himself wanting more.

Looking at Holly Sinclair’s seductive appearance, the gloom in the man’s heart was swept away.

’In the car, she was screaming about divorce, and now she’s dressed like this to seduce me.’

’Such a duplicitous woman!’

The sound of the hairdryer masked his footsteps, and Holly Sinclair remained focused on drying her hair.

Cool fingertips touched her back.

"Ah!"

She screamed, so startled that she jumped to her feet.

Tristan Sterling’s hand froze in mid-air, still poised in the motion of caressing her back.

The two of them locked eyes.

A thick, awkward tension filled the air.

"What are you doing in here?!"

After the initial shock, Holly Sinclair snapped at the man in anger.

"It’s my room. I can’t enter?" Tristan Sterling laughed, annoyed.

"Mr. Sterling, your room is across the hall," she also laughed, pointing to the room opposite with a face full of scorn.

In their two years of marriage, they had always slept in separate rooms. The times they’d shared a room could be counted on one hand.

And every time after he was done with her, he would either leave the house or go sleep in the guest room.

He had never once spent a full night in the master bedroom!

"So?" he snorted.

"This is *my* room!"

She subconsciously straightened her spine, taking a stance as if ready to fight him to the bitter end.

Tristan Sterling’s dark eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp as he stared at the woman who dared to challenge him.

A chill emanated from his tall frame.

He took a step, advancing on her.

Holly Sinclair instinctively retreated.

The small of her back hit the vanity; she had nowhere left to run.

The man’s arms slammed down on either side of her, trapping her between the vanity and his chest.

His familiar masculine scent, heavy with the scent of pheromones, washed over her.

Holly Sinclair turned her face away, refusing to share the same air as him.

But the motion of turning her head completely exposed her pale, alluring, swan-like neck to his eyes.

It gave Tristan Sterling a bloodthirsty impulse.

’I want to bite it.’

"Everything here belongs to me. Never mind the room, which I can enter as I please. Even you..." He moved closer to her ear, his breath a suggestive whisper that tickled her skin. "I can also..."

The rest went unsaid, but the meaning was clear.

Holly Sinclair’s cheeks were burning. She shoved him away with all her might—

"Don’t touch me!"

She desperately tried to control her chaotic heartbeat.

’Don’t let his words affect you,’ she warned herself fiercely.

’He’s not worth it!’

’He doesn’t deserve it!’

"Hah..."

Tristan Sterling stumbled back two steps from the push. He laughed, his eyes sweeping over her nightgown. "What’s with the act? Didn’t you dress like this just to seduce me?"

Holly Sinclair glanced down at herself.

Half-revealed, half-concealed—it was undeniably enchanting.

She quickly grabbed a silk robe from the bed and threw it on.

Shielding herself from the man’s aggressive gaze.

But in Tristan Sterling’s eyes, her action was nothing more than a clumsy ploy to get his attention.

"Monday, nine a.m. See you at the Civil Affairs Bureau."