Her Marriage: The Night is Still Young-Chapter 188: The Deeper the Love, the Greater the Hate

Chapter 188: Chapter 188: The Deeper the Love, the Greater the Hate

Josephine Thompson shivered all over.

Her gaze pierced through the blurry mist of tears into the mirror.

The reflection showed her with disheveled hair, pitiful and miserable.

Her skin gleamed pale blue under the cold light, resembling a flower battered by storms, on the brink of wilting.

Nathaniel Gallagher loosened his collar, his meticulously combed hair now falling over his forehead.

The madness swirling in his eyes, handsome yet malevolent.

"Have you seen clearly?" Nathaniel Gallagher’s lips brushed past her ear.

Destroying the soul.

If you don’t want to be his wife, then become his kept plaything.

"...Nathaniel Gallagher... I hate you, forever and ever." Josephine Thompson’s consciousness was gradually detaching.

Indeed.

His depravity knew no bounds.

Always resetting the baseline from the last time.

Brutal, ferocious, perverted, shattering people’s worldviews again and again.

"Ha~, this is the path you chose, obediently endure it."

"Since being Mrs. Gallagher is so humiliating for you, then taste what it’s like to be a plaything..."

He suddenly tore off his tie.

"Rip!"

The sound of silk rubbing against skin echoed, especially shrill in the deathly silent room.

Josephine Thompson’s consciousness paused, the taste of blood spreading through her mouth, but it was nothing compared to the sharp ache in her chest.

"Nathaniel Gallagher, I beg you, let me go..."

Her voice was as broken as a tattered candle in the wind, as faint as a breath.

She truly couldn’t bear it any longer.

Besides begging for mercy, there was no other way.

Nathaniel Gallagher sneered coldly, his large hand nearly snapping her waist, "Begging me? Have you forgotten the rules?"

"Don’t..." Desperate and humiliated tears streamed down Josephine Thompson’s face.

From before when they were together.

When she couldn’t handle it.

He would force her to repeatedly say she loved him, felt good, liked being with her husband... all sorts of cheesy things.

Over time.

A tacit understanding formed.

Once she was satisfied and didn’t want anymore, she would say things to rile him up, to end it quickly.

But that was then, this is now.

At that time, she truly loved him.

And he wasn’t so cruel and brutal.

But now...

The words ’I love you,’ she couldn’t utter them even if she died.

"Say it..."

Josephine Thompson’s heart softened, losing all resistance.

She was as faint as a breath.

Limp like a lifeless doll.

Her heart was aching to the extreme.

Already numb.

No matter how he tormented her, she didn’t even whimper.

"Say you love me!" Nathaniel Gallagher intensified his resentment.

Josephine Thompson had no reaction, like she was dead.

Five minutes later.

She remained unchanged, lifeless.

Like a snake that’s had its spine removed.

Nathaniel Gallagher felt a sudden panic, cold sweat dripping down his forehead.

His heart throbbed with pain.

The more he loved her, the more he hated her.

If she showed even a little weakness, demonstrated even a little love for him.

Even just a tiny bit...

He couldn’t bear to treat her like this.

Nathaniel Gallagher abruptly released his grip, stepping back as if burned.

In the dim light.

Josephine Thompson lay motionless, her body covered in red marks of varying shades, like crumpled rice paper.

Her chest gently rose and fell, so faint it seemed as if it might extinguish like a candle at any moment. There were several bite marks on her neck, glaringly bright.

"...Josephine Thompson, stop pretending to be dead."

His voice was slightly trembling, reaching to check her breath. The skin under his fingertips was cool, with only a faint airflow brushing his fingertips, proving she was still alive.

Nathaniel Gallagher’s heart felt like it was gripped by an invisible hand, the previous mania instantly dissipating, replaced by a vague panic.

Never had he seen her like this.

No crying, no struggling, not even an ounce of hatred in her gaze. Like a doll whose soul was taken away, left at the mercy of others.

He roughly pulled the covers over her, the action unexpectedly carrying a hint of awkwardness even he didn’t notice.

"Stop pretending to be dead..." he tried to mask his panic with ferocity, but the conviction in his voice was noticeably lacking.

Only silence answered him.

Outside, the white lion lay by the glass wall once again, its amber eyes quietly watching the room. A low whine emanated from its throat, urging or perhaps warning.

Nathaniel Gallagher irritably ran his hand through his hair, the usually neat strands now messily clinging to his forehead.

He looked at the lifeless body on the bed, heart scorching like held under a red-hot iron, both burning and stifling.

This was not what he wanted.

He wanted to see her cry, to see her cause a fuss, to see her curse him, condemn him, hit him, bite him as she did before.

And then.

Be forced to succumb to his conquest. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

But now...

No matter how he tormented her.

She didn’t react.

Even though he had just switched to a gentle mode, to moves she couldn’t endure each time.

"Josephine Thompson, get up, stop pretending to be pitiful, I won’t be soft-hearted again." His voice lowered, laden with a hoarseness even he found unfamiliar.

She remained unresponsive.

Nathaniel Gallagher’s panic grew stronger, he suddenly lifted her horizontally. Carried her from the sofa to the bed.

Her body was as light as a feather, her head limp against his shoulder. Warm breaths brushed past his neck, accompanied by a faint, elusive scent of blood.

"Josephine Thompson, did you hear me?"

He tightened his arms, almost growling, "If you’re pretending to be dead, I’ll have Julian Grant buried with you!"

"And your grandfather, he’ll be buried with you too."

Josephine Thompson remained weak, without any reaction.

Nathaniel Gallagher was utterly panicked, quickly bringing her to the bed.

Then, immediately pressed the server button by the bed.

"Beep beep!"

Within less than a minute.

A knock resounded.

"President Gallagher, your orders please."

"Get the doctor here immediately."

"Yes." The bodyguard outside responded briskly, footsteps quickly moving away.

Nathaniel Gallagher stood by the bed, flustered.

His gaze fell on Josephine Thompson’s pallid face, deepening his anguish.

He knew it.

She had a very stubborn and resilient personality, rather die than submit.

But her body was weak.

Especially after giving birth to Henny, she became even more frail. She also had heart disease; a shock could really kill her.

He leaned over and felt with the back of his hand. Nathaniel Gallagher gently touched her cheek, and the icy touch made his fingertips tremble.

The bloodstains on her neck were still seeping droplets of blood.

Clumsily, he pulled out some tissues from the bedside table, wanting to wipe them for her. But then he was afraid of hurting her, so his hand hovered in the air, caught in a dilemma.

"Josephine, wake up."

He spoke softly, his voice carrying a plea even he hadn’t noticed, "Open your eyes and look at me..."

The only response was her breathing, so weak it was almost inaudible.

The ticking of the clock on the wall sounded, each second striking his nerves.

Nathaniel Gallagher paced anxiously, his gaze constantly falling on the person on the bed, only to quickly look away.

As if looking one more time would make his heart ache even more sharply.

He remembered the first time he saw her.

She was wearing a white dress, sitting in the corner of the restaurant, sunlight falling on her hair, like a golden halo.

He fell for her at first sight.

He remembered the first time she said "I love you" was on his birthday.

She said it softly in his ear, her voice tender, a bit shy. That day, he lifted her up and spun around several times, the joy in his heart almost overflowing.

He recalled that after she became pregnant, she loved to nestle in his arms reading parenting books. Her fingers would lightly trace his chin, saying that the baby must have beautiful eyes like his.

But now, everything had turned into an illusion.

Did he extinguish that ray of light with his own hands?

If he could start over.

He would certainly never deceive her again.

And he would definitely not deceive her into giving birth to his and Eleanor Churchill’s child.

He would earnestly ask for a child with her, strive to maintain their marriage, and properly settle things with Eleanor.

"Knock, knock, knock."

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

"Click!"

The doctor opened the door, carrying a medical kit and quickly walked in, "President Gallagher."

"Please take a look at her." Nathaniel Gallagher stepped aside, a hint of urgency in his voice that was hard to hide.

"Alright, President Gallagher." The doctor hurried to check her, placing the stethoscope on Josephine Thompson’s chest.

Nathaniel Gallagher watched intently, barely daring to breathe.

After a moment.

"President Gallagher, this lady is only suffering from physical exhaustion and emotional agitation, leading to a temporary faint. She’s not in any life-threatening danger."

The doctor removed the stethoscope, his tone steady, "It’s just that her wounds need to be treated, and she’s somewhat dehydrated. It would be best to give her some glucose."

Hearing this, Nathaniel Gallagher’s tensed shoulders slowly relaxed, his back already soaked with cold sweat. He waved his hand, "You take care of it, gently."

"Yes."

The doctor began to clean the wounds; when the iodine swab touched her skin, Josephine Thompson’s eyelashes lightly trembled, but she remained unconscious.

Nathaniel Gallagher stood by, watching, watching those varying depths of red marks, watching the doctor carefully apply medicine to her, his chest feeling like something was blocking it, making him uneasy.

The doctor finished treating the wounds.

Left behind an IV and medications, gave a few words of instruction, and then tactfully retreated.

The room returned to silence, broken only by the sound of liquid dripping through the IV tube.

Nathaniel Gallagher walked to the bedside, pulled over a chair to sit, his gaze falling on her pale face.

Her lips were chapped, so he poured a glass of warm water, dipped a cotton swab into it, and gently applied it to her lips.

His movements were so gentle, unlike himself.

He murmured in a low voice, his voice extremely hoarse, "When you wake up, let’s talk properly, okay?"

"Please don’t scare me like this again..."

By the time the sky outside turned completely bright.

The first ray of sunshine fell on Josephine Thompson’s face, and he realized he had fallen asleep by the bedside.

And on the bed.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes.

Her vision was somewhat blurred, and it took a moment to focus. The first thing she saw was Nathaniel Gallagher’s familiar sleeping profile.

There were faint dark circles under his eyes, his brows slightly furrowed, as if in an uneasy dream.

Josephine Thompson’s gaze was calm, just silently watching, as if looking at a stranger.

"You’re awake?"

Josephine Thompson’s gaze trembled violently, like a startled bird, quickly shifting to the deep brown wood grain at the foot of the bed.

Nathaniel Gallagher was already awake, his voice carrying the hoarseness of just waking up, with a faint tension.

When he got up, the chair legs scraped against the floor, making a screeching sound, particularly jarring in the overly quiet room.

Josephine Thompson closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, her gaze was like ice: "Let me go."

Her voice was so dry it sounded like sandpaper rubbing, yet exceptionally clear, each word carrying a determined edge.

Nathaniel Gallagher’s movements came to an abrupt stop.

He had originally intended to reach out to feel her forehead, but now his hand was awkwardly frozen mid-air, even more awkward.

"I..." He opened his mouth, but the words he had prepared got stuck in his throat.

He wanted to ask if her wounds still hurt, to say the doctor advised drinking more water, and to admit last night was his fault.

But in her eyes, devoid of warmth, everything seemed superfluous and ridiculous.

"Josephine Thompson."

He swallowed, trying to regain his usual assertiveness, yet his tone remained weak, "Your body isn’t well yet."

"My body is none of your concern." She lifted the quilt, wanting to sit up, which pulled on the wounds on her back, causing a sharp intake of breath and sweat immediately beading on her forehead.

Nathaniel Gallagher quickly stepped forward to help her, only to be abruptly brushed aside by her hand.

Her strength was light, like a feather brushing past, yet it made his heart contract violently.

"Don’t touch me."

Josephine Thompson gritted her teeth, enunciating each word, "Nathaniel Gallagher, how long do you intend to imprison me? Using Julian Grant and Grandpa to threaten me, using these filthy tactics to force me, are you that desperate for a toy to vent your anger on?"

"I’m not..."

"Not what?" She finally looked up at him, her eyes filled with suppressed hatred, like a volcano on the verge of eruption, "Not treating me as a plaything? Then what were you doing last night?"

Nathaniel Gallagher’s expression darkened, the panic in his eyes replaced by anger.

"I admit it was my fault last night." He clenched his fist, his voice harsh, "But weren’t you at fault too? How could you have the nerve to abort the child without a word..."

"Child?" Josephine Thompson suddenly laughed, her laughter razor-sharp like shards of glass.

"You’re not worthy of talking to me about children."

"Nathaniel Gallagher, don’t forget how Henny came to be!"

"Now you still want me to have a child for you, you’re dreaming, you’re not worthy."

She raised her voice abruptly, her chest heaving fiercely, the IV line swaying lightly with her movements.

Nathaniel Gallagher was left speechless by her outcry.

The arguments he had prepared seemed like a plucked string that could no longer produce a sound.

He watched the redness around her eyes, watched her shoulders tremble slightly with emotion, and suddenly realized that some wounds had never truly healed.

"I..." He wanted to say he was sorry, but those three words felt as light as the wind in the face of her pain.

Josephine Thompson, however, no longer wanted to hear anything.

She lay back down, turning her back to him, her voice as cold as ice: "Either let me go, or let me die here."

The room fell silent once more.

Only the occasional low roar of the white lion outside the window could be heard.

Nathaniel Gallagher stood there.

Watching her thin back, watching the neck wrapped in bandages peeking out from the quilt.

His heart felt like it was being run over repeatedly, hurting to the point where he could barely breathe.

No matter what.

She had given him a son.

Furthermore, when his funds were tied up, she unhesitatingly provided him with ten billion for rotation. She would stay up all night tending to him when his stomach hurt.

Four years of marriage.

As his wife, she truly did everything very, very well.

The love she once had for him was so sincere and passionate, with no reservations.

He was just...

The deeper the love, the deeper the hate.

Unable to accept the fact that she no longer loved him, unwilling to accept that there was a period to their story.