On Our Wedding Day My Husband Announced His First Love Online-Chapter 38: Your Heart Aches for Her Already?
The moment I saw it was Clara Langley, my expression darkened, and I instinctively turned to leave.
But Clara Langley hurried after me, grabbing my arm. "I’m talking to you. Why are you running?"
I shook her hand off and said mockingly, "Can’t you tell? I don’t want to talk to you."
Clara Langley looked at me in disbelief, her brows knitting. "Are you crazy? I didn’t do anything to you!"
Her words made me laugh out of anger. I said coldly, "You’re the one who’s crazy!"
Clara Langley rolled her eyes at me. "I’m not the other woman between you and Theodore Grant. You knew he didn’t love you before you married him, didn’t you? What’s it got to do with me? Stop taking your anger out on me, okay?"
’Faced with such a shameless accusation, I had to admire her nerve.’
’Talk about playing the victim. Today, I’ve really seen it all.’
"I don’t want to talk to you. Please get out of my way."
Clara Langley sneered. "You think I *want* to talk to you? If it wasn’t for Theodore, I wouldn’t waste my time on you."
Seeing that she was determined to be difficult, I immediately turned to leave.
"Get back here!" Clara Langley instinctively reached for my arm again.
I flinched back on reflex, but her fingernails scraped the back of my hand, immediately drawing a line of blood!
Clara Langley froze for a second, then said nonchalantly, "I didn’t do it on purpose. I just wanted to talk. Why are you so hostile?"
"Fine! Then I’ll ’accidentally’ scratch you back!" I was completely infuriated and lunged for her wrist.
"AHHH! Chelsea Joyce, have you lost your mind?"
But before I could even touch her, she shrieked like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on.
Just as I grabbed Clara Langley’s wrist, about to give her a taste of her own medicine, my own wrist was suddenly seized. A sharp voice barked from above me, "Chelsea Joyce, what do you think you’re doing!"
"Theodore, Chelsea Joyce has gone mad! She’s trying to scratch me!" Clara Langley immediately whined the moment she saw Theodore Grant.
But Theodore Grant didn’t even glance at Clara Langley. His brow furrowed as he looked at me, his expression complex. "Chelsea, if you have a problem, take it out on me. Don’t involve Clara. This has nothing to do with her."
I scoffed. "What? Your heart aches for her already?"
"Chelsea..." Theodore Grant began, his brow furrowed, but he suddenly stopped when he noticed the bloody scratch on the back of my hand. "Your hand..."
I followed his gaze down to my hand. The scratch from Clara Langley was already beading with blood, looking rather shocking.
Theodore Grant clearly figured out what happened. He snapped his head toward Clara Langley and glared. "Did you scratch Chelsea?"
Clara Langley was still defiant. "I told you, it wasn’t on purpose! Chelsea Joyce jerked away, that’s how she got hurt..."
"Apologize to Chelsea, now!" Theodore Grant’s face was stern.
Clara Langley stared in utter disbelief. "Theodore, have you lost your mind? Why are you making such a big deal out of nothing? We’ve been best friends for decades! Are you really choosing her over me?!"
I watched them argue coldly. As much as I wanted to scratch Clara Langley back, I knew Theodore would never let me hurt her as long as he was here.
Besides, the scratch on my hand was starting to throb. ’I wonder if I need a tetanus shot,’ I thought.
With that thought, I couldn’t be bothered to stay any longer and turned toward the elevators.
"Chelsea..." Theodore Grant instinctively moved to follow me.
"Theodore, you make yourself clear! I came here to stand up for you and confront Chelsea Joyce, you know? Fine, be ungrateful, but how can you turn on me like this?"
"That’s enough. Stop talking."
"No, I’m going to have my say!"
The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off their lovers’ spat. I glanced down at the scratch on my hand and let out a weary sigh.
Just then, my phone rang in my pocket. It was a call from Sebastian Forrest.
Figuring he was finished talking with Dr. Miller, I answered and asked where he was.
"I’m by the elevators on the seventh floor."
I nodded. "Okay, I’m on my way."
However, when I found Sebastian Forrest, before I could even say a word, his eyes went straight to the scratch on my hand. "What happened to your hand?"
"It’s nothing. I just scratched it by accident."
Sebastian Forrest’s brow twitched. "Wait here. I’ll go get some medical supplies."
"You don’t have to—"
"Wait." The single word permitted no argument.
I gave a helpless nod and relented.
A few moments later, Sebastian Forrest returned with a large bag of medical supplies.
He meticulously cleaned and treated the wound, then wrapped it in gauze. Only then did he seem to relax a little, instructing me, "Don’t let it get wet for the next three days."
"Got it."
"Let’s go. I’ll take you home."
Soon, the car was parked in front of my apartment building.
"Thank you for the ride home, Senior Forrest."
"No need to be so formal with me..." Sebastian Forrest’s lips curved into a smile as he asked, seemingly offhand, "What’s for dinner tonight?"
"There’s food in the fridge. I’ll just make something simple."
"You’re going to cook?" Sebastian Forrest raised an eyebrow.
I nodded, confused. "Yes, what’s wrong?"
But Sebastian Forrest just grabbed that large bag of supplies, pushed open his door, and got out. "I thought we agreed you’re not supposed to get that hand wet. Come on, I’ll cook for you..."
I was completely taken aback. "Senior Forrest, you... you can cook?"
"Who are you underestimating?" Sebastian Forrest’s voice was particularly magnetic as he drew out his words. "Tonight, you’ll get to taste my handiwork."
’At first, I thought he was just kidding.’
But when I saw him standing in my kitchen, apron on, skillfully chopping vegetables like a seasoned pro, it finally sank in that he wasn’t kidding.
But—
’How did he learn to do this?’
As if sensing my shock and confusion, Sebastian Forrest glanced up from his chopping, a smile playing on his lips. "Back at the research institute, all we had was mess hall food. And when we were stationed out in the field, you wouldn’t see another person for miles. If you wanted something different to eat, you had to learn to make it yourself..."
’So that’s how.’
I had just assumed that Sebastian Forrest simply knew *how* to cook.
But when he placed two dishes and a soup on the table—all looking, smelling, and tasting divine—I realized his skills went far beyond simply "knowing how to cook."
"Is it good?" Sebastian Forrest chuckled, watching me practically inhale my food.
"Mhm, delicious." I swallowed the mouthful of food and gave him a thumbs-up. "This is incredible."
A smile lit up Sebastian Forrest’s eyes. "Then I’ll cook for you all the time from now on."
I froze, unsure of how to respond.
But Sebastian Forrest simply acted like he hadn’t said anything remarkable, placing more food in my bowl. "Slow down. Don’t choke."
I quickly lowered my head and went back to eating. ’I’m probably just being oversensitive,’ I thought. ’He was just being polite. It’s not like he meant it.’
After we finished eating, Sebastian Forrest stood up to clear the table. I offered to help, but he waved me off with a simple reminder: "You can’t get your hand wet."
Feeling too guilty to just sit there, I stood by the kitchen doorway to watch him wash the dishes and keep him company.
As we were chatting, Sebastian Forrest suddenly glanced up at me, a playful smile on his lips. "Oh, right. Jude Miller told me a piece of gossip today. Want to hear it?"
