Bound by love: Marrying my Disabled Husband

Chapter 1597:

The sharp crack of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the room—once, twice, three times. The brutal assault left Jennie crumpled on the bed, her vision swimming.

“Still bold enough to hurl insults?” Corrie towered over her, sneering.

Jennie buried her face in silence, concealing the pain etched across her features.

A dark smile played across Corrie’s lips.

Jennie’s immediate compliance mattered little—her ultimate goal wasn’t obedience but the cultivation of raw fear. Terror, she knew, bred the deepest submission.

“Your cooperation ensures both your safety and your friend’s,” Corrie stated coldly. “Defy me, and neither of you survives.”

Minutes stretched into an eternity before Jennie whispered, her voice barely audible, “I’ll comply. What are your demands?”

Corrie helped her victim upright, adopting a falsely gentle tone. “No need for such gloom. Nothing too extreme—simply remain by Brook’s side and eliminate his new romantic interest.”

“These marks make visiting him impossible,” Jennie murmured, gesturing to her reddened cheek.

Corrie grasped Jennie’s face with mock tenderness. “My actions were harsh. We’ll wait for your healing—can’t have you appearing before Brook in such a state. He’s already enchanted by another; your current appearance wouldn’t help recapture his attention.”

She examined Jennie’s features with calculating precision. “Still, you possess more delicate beauty than his current infatuation.”

“Brook’s affections waver easily,” Jennie responded. “You overestimate my ability to reclaim his heart.”

Corrie pressed her hand against Jennie’s mouth, her smile never reaching her eyes. “Such talk is forbidden. You’re more than capable.”

Retrieving Jennie’s phone from her bag, she continued, “Here. Rest and recover. Once these marks fade, I’ll orchestrate your reunion with Brook.”

Jennie stared at the returned device, unable to manufacture even a hollow smile.

Corrie departed the villa with evident satisfaction, steering her vehicle toward her next destination.

The first light of dawn painted the sky as she arrived at an imposing estate in Watscar.

A vigilant servant materialized immediately to welcome her arrival.

She proceeded purposefully through the grounds, halting only when she reached her intended destination. Her knuckles rapped against the wooden door.

“Enter.” The voice that responded carried the weight of authority.

Corrie glided into the room and flung herself onto the bed, seeking the embrace of its occupant.

The man’s silver hair and time-etched features spoke of advanced years, his presence carrying the unmistakable scent of age.

Disregarding these details, Corrie’s voice emerged as a honeyed whisper tinged with distress. “I’m at my breaking point. I need your intervention!”

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