His Mute Wife: He Can't Sleep After She Left-Chapter 6: What Use Do I Have for Keeping Your Whole Family

Chapter 6: Chapter 6: What Use Do I Have for Keeping Your Whole Family

The servant pressed Kiana Sutton to the ground, hitting and kicking her, but Kiana didn’t give in easily—whenever she saw the chance, she fought back with everything she had.

In the end, it was the servants outside who heard the commotion and rushed in to pull the pudgy servant away.

"Bitch, you dare hit me? Don’t think you’ll ever have another good day in the Sinclair Family."

The pudgy servant cursed as she was dragged out, while Kiana Sutton lay on the floor clutching her head, ignored by everyone.

Most people were even secretly gloating over her misery.

Kiana Sutton lay on that cold floor; her anger from before had gradually faded into a deep sense of hurt and sorrow.

She couldn’t speak, so she could only cry out in her heart: "Dad, Kiana misses you so much..."

In a haze, Kiana seemed to see Gordon Sutton bend down and gently pick her up, stroking her head and saying, "Kiana, my sweet, Daddy’s here. No one will bully you when I’m around."

Kiana’s tears flowed even harder.

...

Heavy rain was falling outside when Ethan Sinclair came home shrouded in a chill, immediately greeted by the house servants.

Not seeing Kiana Sutton in the living room, Ethan frowned and asked, "Where is she?"

The pudgy servant, clutching her face that had been scratched by Kiana, started whining and exaggerating the story.

She claimed she went to bring Kiana Sutton her meal, only to have soup thrown in her face, her face scratched, and then got beaten and thrown out by Kiana.

The servant’s face was flushed, and the spots where she’d been scratched bore fresh scars.

Ethan remembered Kiana once dared to bash President Langley’s head to bleeding—so against a servant, it was no surprise.

He glared coldly and thundered, "Go, get her out here."

The servant’s heart leapt with joy, and puffed up with pride, she flung open the basement door.

Seeing Kiana Sutton lying on the bed, the servant rudely dragged her out of the blankets.

Kiana Sutton’s body ached all over, her head dizzy and burning, and when she saw it was that pudgy servant again, she braced to fight, but that woman crowed smugly, "Sir is back, and he wants to see you. Kiana Sutton, you’re done for!"

In the dining room.

Ethan Sinclair’s face was thunderous and frightening; looking at Kiana Sutton’s skinny, frail body only stoked his anger more.

Perhaps sensing Ethan Sinclair’s seething rage, Kiana Sutton instinctively halted, not daring to approach him.

"Come here!"

Hearing Ethan Sinclair’s icy command, Kiana Sutton bit her lip, feet shuffling slowly toward him.

"Why didn’t you eat?"

Kiana Sutton didn’t dare meet Ethan’s eyes; every inch of her hurt, especially her chest.

Ethan Sinclair rarely showed any concern for her—it was only ever about her blood.

Ethan clearly had no patience for Kiana’s explanations, cutting her off coldly: "Eat everything that’s on that table."

Kiana glanced at the food on the table—they were all things to replenish blood and energy.

There was king mushroom chicken soup, longan, red date, and lotus seed dessert, and duck blood vermicelli, things like that.

Kiana had zero appetite; she’s allergic to mushrooms and longan, dislikes duck blood, so she just stood there unmoving.

Ethan Sinclair, seeing her like this, strode over and forcibly yanked Kiana into a chair by the table.

"Kiana Sutton, do you really think you’re Mrs. Sinclair now? Bossing the servants around, trying to give me attitude! What? Because I won’t let your father get medical parole, now you’re staging a hunger strike to protest? Who the hell do you think you are?"

The pain in her wrist and all over her body left Kiana looking deathly pale; seeing the servants watching with amusement, she clenched her fists tight.

Ethan Sinclair never cared about her, didn’t know her allergies—eating this could kill her!

Ethan gave her no chance to gesture, his voice snapping coldly.

"You’ll eat all of it whether you want to or not! Don’t forget—your piece-of-shit father is still alive, your mom and your brother still living halfway normal lives, all because of your blood. If you’re not even good for that, what do I need your whole damn family for?"

Ethan scooped up a ladleful of chicken soup and, without warning, forced it down Kiana Sutton’s throat.

"Cough, cough..."

Kiana choked and coughed hard; some of the broth splattered on Ethan Sinclair, whose eyes flashed with undisguised disgust, his expression growing darker and more menacing by the second.

He shoved Kiana away roughly, then gave her a cold, disdainful glare as she coughed her lungs out, barking at the servants, "Watch her—she goes back to her room only when she’s finished every bit on that table."

It was already late; the servants wanted to finish up and rest, and had no intention of waiting for Kiana to eat on her own.

They exchanged knowing glances—one held Kiana down, while another forced spoonfuls into her mouth.

Kiana kept fighting back, but you can’t win against four hands with just two fists.

She was feverish, body overheating, lacking any strength.

Groggy, she stared at those twisted, snarling faces and thought they looked no different from demons out of hell.

Kiana didn’t know how much she’d been force-fed—she only knew her whole body ached, her stomach burned like fire.

In the end, Kiana Sutton was tossed into the basement like a used rag.

Her body hurt terribly, but not even a fraction as much as her heart did.

Ethan Sinclair made her eat all that food just for her blood; his heart and eyes were full of Kate Lynch, and as for her—even if she died, he’d never bat an eyelash.

She curled up on the ground, hugging herself tightly, tears falling uncontrollably as her consciousness started to blur.

Later that night, Ethan Sinclair got a call from Julian Garrison. Julian was an actor, always busy filming and running around to events; rare days off meant he wanted to drink and chat with Ethan.

When Ethan arrived, Julian was the only one in the VIP room.

Julian was dressed in a gold silk shirt and black slacks; he had a thing for gold, especially real gold.

A thick gold chain hung around his elegant neck, even his belt was gold.

On anyone else, this combination might look tacky or nouveau riche, but Julian Garrison was handsome and refined, and with his shirt unbuttoned just so, he looked sexy and bold.

When Julian first got popular, he even started a gold fashion craze.

Knowing Ethan Sinclair hated noisy places, Julian had chosen soft and gentle music for the room.

"Hey, you made it."

"Why just you?"

"Simon had something come up and couldn’t make it. Looks like this lonely night is just the two of us brothers relying on each other."

Julian Garrison tried to give Ethan Sinclair a hug, but Ethan coolly evaded him.

Julian, left hanging, snorted, "Bro, OCD is an illness. You ought to get it treated."

Ethan didn’t reply, his dark eyes scanning the sofa, his mood visibly sour.

"Relax. That’s your exclusive spot—nobody’s sat there. When I arrived, I even got the staff to disinfect it."

In Julian Garrison’s eyes, Ethan Sinclair was gorgeous, tall, and made all the celebrities pale by comparison. His only flaw was his severe OCD—and he was absurdly particular about everything.

Any couch Ethan had sat on had to be off-limits to everyone else. His drinking glass had to be brand new, disinfected and washed three times before he’d use it.

Julian used to think Ethan would die old and alone—never expected he’d be the first one of their crew to get married.

"So, you and your mute little wife—how’s that going lately?"