Why Is Mr. Handsome Always Angry? - Chapter 10

Covered in cola stains, his trousers smeared by my greasy hands, Mr. Handsome stuffed me into the car.

“Where… where are we going?” My heart tightened.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked back.

Joy flooded me. “Anywhere I want?”

His eyes darkened as he pressed the accelerator. “Home.”

Liar. Playing with my feelings!

Then it hit me. “Which home? Whose home? What home?”

“Have you and Xiao Shima set up a home somewhere else?” He glanced at me in the mirror.

“No! Impossible! Absolutely not!” A triple denial, delivered at speed.

Then again, maybe we had.

I grumbled inwardly. This fucked-up world had never let me down.

His gaze moved over me for a while. “Our home,” he said evenly.

I sucked in a breath.

Locked doors. Thick walls. Dim lighting. Airtight windows. A roof that shut out daylight. A place even more convenient for murder than dumping a body in the wilderness!

I stared at him in terror, my voice trembling slightly. “If you have to choose between raping me before you kill me and raping my corpse afterward, I’d prefer the first option.”

“Why do you keep trying to escape?” Mr. Handsome grabbed my collar and dragged me back before him.

Ten minutes earlier, the moment the engine stopped, I had flung open the door, picked a random direction, and run like mad.

He found me in five minutes.

I hunched my neck like a quail. “Why can you always find me?”

If he said something like “our hearts are connected,” I would take off my sneaker and throw it in his face.

After a moment’s silence, he said, “I put a tracker on you.”

“What?!” I jumped up, feeling all over myself. “Where? My cuffs? My trouser hems? Don’t tell me… in my socks?”

He stopped me from taking my shoes off in the street. “The back of your neck.”

Dubiously, I looked at him and felt the back of my collar.

Nothing.

He caught my hand. “It was only a minor procedure.”

“…” This time, I was speechless.

“Are you a psychopath?” I pulled free and started taking my shoes off again.

“What are you doing?” he asked, frowning.

“Deciding whether to knock you out with my shoe or with my foot odor. You choose.”

Only children choose. Adults should have both.

But I failed.

Mr. Handsome stole one of my shoes.

Wiping angry tears, I hopped after him on one foot. “When did you put a tracker on me?”

He really had no humanity.

“Last year. After you eloped with Xiao Shima.” He stopped, his voice low. I couldn’t tell what he was feeling, but instinctively, I knew he wasn’t happy.

“I eloped with Xiao Shima?!” I repeated in disbelief. “No… surely not!”

He turned and watched me for a long time. Then his beautiful voice sounded, chilling me all over. “You don’t seem to remember. Do you?”

“I remember! I remember!” I denied it hastily.

Under his suspicious gaze, I swiftly surrendered. “Okay, I don’t remember. I’ve always been like that. I habitually forget all my bad memories.”

“Yes. Bad memories. They must have been very bad memories.” He rubbed my shoe, murmuring softly.

At his words, I made a momentous decision: I would absolutely not hold his hand later.

When I got ruthless, I even found myself disgusting.

“Don’t be sad. Since I’m still here with you now, it means the elopement didn’t work out, right?” In the elevator home, I carefully patted his back.

He gave an almost imperceptible hum of agreement.

“In that case, can I have my shoe back?” I demanded, hands on my hips.

“You tried to use it as a weapon against me. I’ve confiscated it,” he said shamelessly.

“Fine!” I ground my teeth and stamped the floor viciously. “When I get home and dirty the floor, you can clean it!”

After a ding, I stormed out of the elevator.

Mr. Handsome followed.

For a fleeting moment, I thought I heard a low laugh.