Hidden Desires - Family Secrets-Chapter 173 Honey, just give me one more chance, just this once, okay? Part 1

"Honey, just give me one more chance, just this once, okay?"

"I’m not one to hold grudges, but I have to say this now, considering how I’ve always stood by you, forgive me this time..."

I sat there, quietly pondering.

Betty watched me, her face growing more fearful by the minute as she couldn’t be sure what I was contemplating.

She had to reiterate, not as a threat based on past favors, but out of desperation to save our relationship.

"Give me a night to think about it..."

My mind was a mess, torn between agreeing and refusing, so all I could ask for was a night.

"Oh... okay..."

Betty’s eyes dimmed upon hearing my words.

Though she didn’t get the answer she hoped for, it was better than a flat rejection.

Clinging to that last shred of hope, she spoke softly, her voice tinged with a plea, though she tried to mask it with a forced smile.

It was already 9:30 PM.

Should I go back to the hotel or stay at home?

If I stayed, should I sleep with Betty or separately?

"Let’s go to bed, you’ve been exhausted lately..."

Betty dabbed her eyes with a tissue, then forced another weak smile.

Her tone was feigned indifference, but her voice betrayed a hint of begging.

After some thought, I decided to stay home.

Betty seemed off today, and I couldn’t risk leaving her alone, fearing she might do something drastic given her state.

I didn’t respond immediately to her suggestion, unsure of what to say.

The dilemma of where to sleep tonight was troubling.

Betty seemed to sense what was coming; her face initially showed hope but soon turned into a wry self-mockery.

"You take the bed... I’ll sleep in the living room..."

Before I could respond, Betty spoke up, sensing I didn’t want to share a bed.

We had two bedrooms, but the other was steeped in Michael’s presence, a place I avoided.

She could have suggested sleeping in Michael’s room herself, but at this point, Michael was a taboo topic between us, leaving her to suggest the living room.

Earlier, I had offered to sleep in the living room, but as a man, how could I let a woman sleep there?

"You take the bed... I’ll sleep in the living room..."

After saying this, I grabbed a pillow from the couch, laid it at the other end, and settled down.

Betty stiffened upon hearing me but said nothing more and quietly returned to the bedroom.

Soon, Betty brought out a blanket and gently covered me with it.

I was truly exhausted.

After eating the meal Betty prepared, filling the long-empty pit of my stomach, sleep quickly overtook me.

I didn’t notice when I drifted off, but by the time I woke, it was already bright outside.

I opened my groggy eyes to see a cascade of soft, long hair.

I was still on the couch, my face turned towards the edge, and my posture was face-down.

Seeing the hair snapped me to alertness.

I fully opened my eyes to find Betty sleeping next to me, not on the couch, but on the floor beside it.

The coffee table had been moved at some point, and there she lay, directly on the floor.

She was still deep in sleep, her face bearing dried tear tracks, yet a slight smile lingered on her lips.

It was a scene steeped in contradiction: tears and a faint smile graced Betty’s face simultaneously.

What did this paradox mean?

I watched her sleep, her innocent face reminiscent of the past, and in her quietude—free from laughter or pain—she looked most beautiful.

Her serene expression brought me a sense of peace, perhaps suggesting that simplicity holds the true essence of life.

Betty’s current state was a stark contrast to her restless demeanor on the surveillance footage.

She didn’t dare join me on the couch but chose the floor right next to it, as close to me as possible.

Maybe that slight smile was born from this proximity.

As I continued to observe Betty, a series of sharp rings shattered the calm—the ringtone of a phone.

Betty, deeply asleep, didn’t stir.

I slid off the couch and followed the sound, finding the phone on the coffee table that Betty had moved aside.

As I picked up her phone, a groan escaped from behind me; Betty was waking up.

I sighed and held the phone to her ear.

"Ah..."

Betty’s eyes fluttered open, and seeing me standing there, she quickly scrambled up from the floor and grabbed the phone.

I had seen the caller ID—a hidden number—but I had my suspicions about who it was.

"Hello..."

Betty glanced at me nervously before answering the call.

"Find Justin, and hand him the phone..."

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The room was so quiet, and I was close enough to hear the icy tone coming through the speaker.

"What’s up?"

I took the phone from Betty and spoke indifferently to Luna.

After recent events, my feelings towards Luna were mixed; she seemed both righteous and nefarious, touching yet sometimes repulsive, with a tendency to shift her stance unpredictably.

"I’ve arranged everything abroad; Michael will be flying to the U.S. tomorrow. Do you need to see him before he leaves?"

Luna’s voice softened considerably upon hearing mine, losing its previous domineering edge.

Luna’s question caught me off guard, leaving me unprepared.

Did I need to see Michael one last time?

He might be afraid to face me, and was I really ready to face him?

"Is he still with you?"

I dodged her question, buying myself some time to think.

"Yes, he’s here, I’m preparing some things for him..."

"I’ll think about it..."

After my response, Luna fell silent, and I hung up.

I turned to look at Betty, our eyes meeting briefly before hers darted away, likely having overheard my conversation with Luna.

I didn’t see in Betty’s expression what I dreaded most.

I sat back on the couch, lost in thought, while Betty, perhaps to escape the awkwardness, went to freshen up.

Afterward, she began preparing breakfast as time ticked by.

I made up my mind; I had to see Michael, even if just through surveillance, to at least understand his current state and not let down Laura’s trust.

After a quick wash, I headed to the door to put on my shoes, ready to leave.

At that moment, Betty, carrying breakfast from the kitchen, saw me about to depart.

Surprisingly, she didn’t stop me; she knew what I was about to do from overhearing my call with Luna.

Her eyes conveyed reluctance and fear—fear that I might not return, that seeing Michael could undo her efforts from the night before.

With Betty’s hesitant expression lingering in my mind, I opened the door and stepped out.