He Got Engaged to His First Love On the Day I Died-Chapter 72: You’d Better Be a Proper Wife

She couldn’t answer him.

Whether or not Felix Finch was gentle depended entirely on Theodore Grant’s mood.

"What do you say? How about I acquire Finch Hospital? I’ll corner the Finch Family, make Felix Finch a rat everyone wants to squash. Let’s see if he’s still in the mood for romance with you then."

His movements were savage.

Natalie Morgan couldn’t help but scream.

She struggled for a moment but couldn’t break free.

"Feeling sorry for him, Mrs. Grant?" He bit her earlobe, his large hand gripping her chin and forcing her head to the side. "Does your heart ache for him? Even if it does, you’ll just have to bear it."

He crushed his lips against hers in a fit of rage, each kiss harder than the one before.

Only when Natalie Morgan’s body went limp did he pull away, satisfied.

As the bedroom door closed.

The woman finally broke down and cried.

Theodore Grant went downstairs.

He lit a cigarette and sat smoking in the living room.

Her lingering scent was still on him, a faint smell of lavender that clung to him, refusing to fade.

The butler approached cautiously and asked, "Sir, is there anything you need?"

He stubbed out his cigarette. "Are there any noodles in the house?"

"Are you hungry, sir? Yes, we have noodles. I’ll go cook a bowl for you."

"No need. I’ll cook them myself."

Theodore Grant rolled up his sleeves and walked into the kitchen.

The butler followed close behind, setting up the pot for him and placing the noodles to the side.

"That’s enough. You can go rest."

This was Theodore Grant’s first time cooking.

For a man of his standing, who’d never had to lift a finger for housework, even cooking a simple bowl of noodles proved to be a challenge.

He wanted to poach an egg.

He tried four or five times before he finally managed to make a whole one.

After taking the noodles and poached egg out of the pot, he even chopped some scallions to garnish them.

Carrying the bowl, he went upstairs.

Natalie Morgan was sitting on the bed, hugging her knees and staring blankly into space.

He offered her the noodles. "There’s no cake in the house. Have a bite of longevity noodles."

His tone was stiff. Natalie Morgan lifted her eyes to the noodle bowl held in his large, well-defined hands.

For a long while, she didn’t take it.

"Do I have to feed you?" he said.

He walked over, picked up the chopsticks, blew gently on the noodles, and held them to her lips. "Here, have a bite."

She furrowed her brow, her icy gaze falling upon the noodles.

The next second, she raised her hand and knocked the bowl over.

She didn’t need his false kindness.

The bowl shattered on the floor. The noodles and the one perfect poached egg inside were mangled beyond recognition.

He raised his hand and grabbed her by the neck, his expression furious. "I’ve been too easy on you, haven’t I?"

She glared at him fiercely.

A stunning glint of defiance shone in her beautiful eyes.

"Theodore Grant, I never eat scallions. Didn’t you know that?" She gave a wretched laugh, her lips trembling. "I don’t give a damn about your noodles."

"Then what do you give a damn about? Felix Finch’s music box?"

The man must have been driven mad with anger.

He ran downstairs to get the music box from the coffee table and, in front of Natalie Morgan, smashed it to pieces.

Still not satisfied, he pinned her down and took her again, brutally.

"You’d better start acting like a proper wife. If I find out you’ve been meeting Felix Finch alone again, I can make your entire family vanish from this earth in a single day. And I wouldn’t mind taking the whole Finch Family along with them."

Natalie Morgan’s face was as pale as paper.

She stared into his eyes, saw the sinister cruelty in them, and raised her hand to slap him across the face.

The slap was completely unexpected.

Theodore Grant raised his hand high, and Natalie Morgan closed her eyes.

His hand clenched into a fist in mid-air and slammed down beside her face.

"Still have the strength to hit me, do you?" he snarled. "If you want me to fuck you to death, just say the word."

"Theodore Grant, you’re a bastard."

She cried, her sobs full of grievance.

Fat teardrops splattered onto the back of his hand. She turned her head and bit down mercilessly on his forearm.

Blood quickly trickled down the man’s arm, dripping onto the back of his hand and mixing with her tears, like a cinnabar-and-ink wash painting.

It was a grim and shocking sight.

He gritted his teeth and let her.

Until she lost her strength.

Only then did he look down at the mangled, bloody teeth marks. "How many times has it been, hmm?"

She didn’t know how many times she had bitten him.

She hated that she couldn’t just bite him to death in one go.

He let her go for the time being, found some alcohol to disinfect the wound, and haphazardly wrapped it with gauze.

Natalie Morgan silently got dressed.

She ignored Theodore Grant, walking around the large bed and heading for the door.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Where are you going?"

"I’m going back to my studio apartment." She was as cold as a snow lotus blooming in winter.

He didn’t try to force her to stay. "I’ll drive you."

She didn’t refuse.

Perhaps she didn’t have the energy.

From the moment she got in the car until they reached their destination, she didn’t say a single word.

After the car stopped, she pushed the door open and got out.

From beginning to end, she never once glanced at Theodore Grant.

Serena Sutton called just as Natalie Morgan had dragged her exhausted body out of the shower.

"I’m fine," she said faintly.

Serena Sutton could guess that Theodore Grant had probably flipped out. "So where are you now?"

"I’m back at my studio apartment."

"Then get some rest. I’ll bring your birthday present over another day. Get a good night’s sleep."

"Mm."

Natalie Morgan did not sleep well.

Her brow remained furrowed the entire time.

Back at the Grant Residence, the man opened a bottle of red wine.

Wanda Lynch, who had been hiding upstairs the whole time, came over on her crutch.

She had already heard him when he brought Natalie Morgan back and exploded at her.

Since the target of his anger was that bitch, she was happy to see it happen.

She eavesdropped, listening to him curse at her, yell at her, and listening to the decadent sounds coming from their room.

Her eyes turned red with jealousy.

"Theodore, why are you drinking? Too much is bad for you." She gently took the wine glass from his fingers. "Are you in a bad mood?"

A faint redness tinged Theodore Grant’s eyes from the wine.

The smell of alcohol made Wanda Lynch’s heart flutter.

She leaned her body closer to the man, placing her small hand on his chest. "Should I have a drink with you?"

The man lifted his eyelids slightly, his expression lazy and careless.

The living room lights traced the sharp angles of his face and his refined jawline.

Wanda Lynch swallowed dryly.

Her gaze was blazing, full of undisguised longing. "Theodore..."

She leaned in to kiss him.

Just as her lips were about to touch his face, he straightened up to avoid her, picked up his wine glass, and drained it.

Wanda Lynch was a little embarrassed.

"I heard you yelling at Natalie Morgan just now. Why bother? If you two can’t get along, why not just... get a divorce?" she tested the waters again, cautiously.

The man’s eyes darkened slightly, and the corner of his lip curled into an unreadable arc.

Wanda Lynch couldn’t decipher his meaning.

She also felt a little disappointed, disappointed that Theodore Grant seemed to have no intention of ever marrying her.

"You don’t want to marry me, do you?"

The man didn’t answer.

His fingertips caressed the stem of the wine glass.

Wanda Lynch’s mood plummeted. Her face fell into a miserable expression. "I know I’m not as pretty as Natalie Morgan, and I know I’m a cripple. People will laugh at you if you’re seen with me. I know I’m not perfect, but Theodore, I love you. I love you so much. I want to have a future with you."