Reborn as Mr.CEO's Fat Wife-Chapter 979: But they just bullied my wife

Mary Scott’s hand was rubbed raw by the tough calluses on David Locke’s fingers. She fought back the surge of bitterness in her chest, forcing herself to say, "I’m fine."

"Fine? Then why are you crying? Are you trying to make it look like we, two old folks, are bullying you?" Mrs. Twain grumbled unhappily.

Mr. Locke looked at his wife and pleaded, "Say one less thing, will you? Look, you’ve upset our son."

"Hmph." Mrs. Locke snorted in disapproval, casually pulling out a few tissues and handing them to Mary. "Here."

Before David could act, Mary hurriedly reached out to take them. "Thank you, Auntie," she murmured.

"Didn’t you just call me Mom earlier? Now I’m Auntie again?" Mrs. Locke huffed, clearly displeased.

Mary wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes and even dabbed at the damp spot on David’s hand that her tears had soaked. Hearing Mrs. Locke’s comment, she hesitated before awkwardly stammering, "Mom..."

The originally irate Mrs. Locke was left speechless. "..."

This girl isn’t just delicate; she’s meltingly soft. She’ll call ’Mom’ without hesitation just because she’s told to?

Mary’s soft and syrupy "Mom" managed to stifle Mrs. Twain’s fire in an instant. Her expression turned complex as she studied the young woman, whose tearful demeanor softened her sharp edges. In her years working in the entertainment industry, Mrs. Twain had seen no shortage of starlets—hundreds, possibly even over a thousand—each one a unique mix of ambition, charm, and sometimes deceit. She had initially thought Mary Scott carried similar vices but seeing the genuine tears in her eyes earlier had made her pause. Especially considering how the girl had reacted when David casually addressed his father as "Dad," there was a flicker of emotion in her gaze that hinted at deeper wounds.

Mrs. Twain, herself a scriptwriter by trade, had a knack for keen observation. She couldn’t help but piece together the reasons why Mary had seemingly lost control, especially remembering her demeanor earlier during the broadcast.

Seeing Mrs. Locke’s softened expression, Mary felt a flicker of joy and turned to David, her eyes signaling a little plea for praise.

David looked at her upturned face, her doe eyes—freshly washed of tears—now brighter than ever. The tear streaks had long been wiped away. Right now, as she gazed at him with an untouched purity, the only lingering evidence of her vulnerability was the faint redness around her eyes. His heart softened and filled with affection. With tenderness, he reached out to ruffle her hair before turning to his parents. "If you don’t have any other business here, maybe you should head back soon."

Mr. and Mrs. Locke, "..."

Mary couldn’t resist pinching David’s arm before giving an awkward smile to the Lockes. "Oh, um... he didn’t mean it like that."

Earlier, caught in the unexpected tension of meeting David’s parents for the first time, Mary had reflexively called them Mom and Dad. Now that the initial panic was retreating, though, she found herself struggling to utter those words again.

Mom and Dad—a pair of titles that felt painfully foreign to her.

Since her father’s passing, and since her mother had abandoned her and her younger brother to escape the Scott family, Mary hadn’t had anyone to call Mom or Dad.

"I meant it literally," David retorted without hesitation, shooting down Mary’s attempt at smoothing things over.

Mary shot him an irritated glare. This shameless man—what was his deal? Trying to stir up trouble on purpose? She already felt like she wasn’t particularly favored by his parents, and now he was making matters worse. If the Lockes started resenting her because of this, wouldn’t their impression of her plummet even further?

David ignored Mary’s protest, instead throwing a challenging look toward his parents.

Mr. and Mrs. Locke, "..."

This ungrateful son!

The tension in the living room was about to escalate again when Mary, embarrassed and simmering with frustration, abruptly stood up intent on confronting David. Before she could even articulate her indignation, her stomach betrayed her, letting out a loud rumble.

The atmosphere in the living room had felt strained, painfully quiet save for the sound of their breathing. And now, her sudden movement had inadvertently drawn everyone’s attention, punctuated by the unmistakable sound of her hunger.

Mary, who had moments ago stormed in with righteous fury, was now so flushed with embarrassment her face turned beet red. Trying to make excuses, she stammered, "Um... um... I’m not hungry."

Gurgle gurgle!

Her stomach seized the opportunity to betray her again with two loud, insistent growls.

For a moment, Mary was at a loss—should she just die of mortification now or quickly grab something to eat?

"Pfft!" Mrs. Locke, who had moments ago been fuming at her son, couldn’t help but burst into laughter and seized the opportunity to mock him. "All these years of manners and etiquette you supposedly learned must have gone straight to the dogs, huh? Leaving your own parents hungry, fine, we’re used to it. But you can’t even feed your own wife? Are you that close to bankruptcy, Director Locke? If that’s the case, you’d better give us a heads-up so your dad and I can cut ties with you early."

David Locke, humiliated by his own mother’s biting words, was tempted to clap back, but seeing Mary sulking miserably next to him, he swallowed his irritation and decided to prioritize feeding his little bunny.

"Let’s eat." David declared, ignoring his parents entirely as he took Mary’s hand and led her to the dining table. He turned on the burner beneath the double-flavor hot pot.

The housekeeper had already prepared all the ingredients, and the broth base—which had been hand-prepared by Mr. Locke—was ready to go. It only took a flick of the flame to get started.

Mary glanced over at the Lockes, who were still sitting off to the side. She nervously pried David’s big hand off of hers and turned back to call out to them. "Auntie, Uncle, please join us."

Mrs. Locke glared at her son before emitting a small, disapproving huff.

Mr. Locke nudged his wife and leaned in, whispering gently, "Come on, you know how stubborn he is. If he’s set his sights on someone, there’s no convincing him otherwise. And after seeing the girl today, I think she’s alright—not like the other starlets in the industry. She’s worth getting to know better."

"Oh, so now you’re defending your son?!" Mrs. Twain snapped at her husband but noticeably softened when she turned her attention back to Mary. "Sweetheart, just how do you tolerate his awful temper?"

Mary froze for a moment, surprised by the question, then bashfully scratched her head. "Actually, his temper isn’t that bad."

"Oh, really? So it’s just with us old folks that he’s a brat?" Mrs. Twain quipped sarcastically.

"Uh... it’s not like that." Mary stammered sheepishly.

Of course, she had heard stories about David being notoriously hard to please on film sets, known for being tougher than A-list actors—the kind of director who could scold people to tears for a single scene adjustment. She had firsthand experience when they were abroad in R Nation and could attest to every tale being true.

"Enough—don’t cover for him. He’s just a thankless jerk through and through," Mrs. Locke declared as she strode into the dining room and plopped herself into the seat directly across from David, throwing him a defiant look.

David raised an unimpressed brow and handed Mary a small bowl of dipping sauce. "Here, try the marinade I made for you."

"Okay," Mary responded quickly and accepted it.

"What about mine?" Mrs. Locke interjected.

David glanced up at his mother indifferently. He didn’t bother replying.

Mrs. Twain, irked, seemed moments away from slamming the table when Mr. Locke quickly handed her a bowl of sauce he had prepared. "Here, honey, enjoy this one."

"Hmph." Mrs. Twain grunted with dissatisfaction but accepted the bowl in silence.

Mary was quietly casting a sidelong glance at David, who had been casually dropping ingredients into the hot pot. She leaned over quietly and whispered, "You really shouldn’t upset them. They’re your parents."

"But they bullied my wife just now," David whispered back, his voice low yet firm, though loud enough for the other two at the table to overhear.

Mary felt the weight of their piercing gazes land on her, making her squirm uncomfortably. "It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t crying because of them—please don’t misunderstand."

"Really? Misunderstanding?" David turned to look at her.

Mary nodded so rapidly it looked like her head might fly off, desperate to convince him.

David’s gaze lingered before his finger grazed her still-slightly-rosy upper eyelids. In a voice low enough to be meant only for her, he whispered, "I know."

As a top-tier director, David’s ability to read emotions wasn’t far behind that of his mother, Mrs. Twain. He had already managed to grasp the real reason behind Mary’s reaction earlier.

To him, whether intentional or not, his parents hadn’t treated Mary well. His little fool had endured enough cruelty in her life; he wouldn’t let her bear any injustices anymore—not even from his own parents.

Mary was stunned by his response. Her glossy, teary eyes blinked at David in innocent bewilderment.

Unable to resist, David leaned down and planted a quick kiss on her lips. Before she could react, he had already used the communal chopsticks to grab a tender slice of meat and dip it into the sauce he had prepared for her. "Try it and see if it’s any good."

Still dazed from the sudden kiss, Mary saw the meat sitting in her bowl and instinctively took a bite. The moment it touched her tongue, she let out a muffled yelp—it was scalding hot!

David chuckled, his grin turning playful. "That was clumsy of you."

Mary shot him a death glare, puffing her cheeks indignantly. She very much suspected he had done it on purpose.

Across the table, the Lockes had witnessed the entire exchange. "..." Was this childish, shameless man really their son? Could he possibly have been swapped at birth?

Noticing their stares, Mary suddenly remembered the Lockes were right there. Her heart sank. Were they now convinced she was some scheming vixen trying to charm their son?

"Mary Scott, is it?" Mrs. Twain suddenly spoke, snapping Mary out of her thoughts.

Mary immediately straightened up, her posture stiff. She looked directly at Mrs. Locke, not daring to break eye contact. "Yes, Auntie."

"Didn’t you just call me Mom earlier? Why change again?" Mrs. Twain had noticed her shift in terminology and felt a pang of dissatisfaction. David had never once softened up enough to call her "Mom" like that. Although she was still unsure about accepting Mary entirely, she certainly didn’t mind hearing that sweet word escape her lips.

Her question barely landed when David interjected, eyeing his mother in irritation. "What, calling my wife Mom isn’t enough for you? Now you want to capitalize on her sweetness?"

"Cough. Who’s capitalizing on her sweetness?! Isn’t it normal for her to call me Mom?" Mrs. Twain scoffed in protest.

"Is that so? Well, if it’s normal, where’s the hush money?" David’s oversized hand reached toward his mother boldly, eyebrows raised mockingly.

Mary wanted to disappear on the spot. She waved her hands at the Lockes, flustered. "No, no, no—it’s not necessary. Please forget about hush money." novelbuddy-cσ๓

"No hush money? Then it’s back to Auntie and Uncle," David remarked casually.

Mr. Locke rose and tugged at his wife’s sleeve gently, attempting a cautious smile. "Hush money definitely has to be given; I’ve already prepared—"

"Not happening! After everything, David didn’t bother telling us he was getting a marriage certificate—not to mention the fact I don’t even approve of this marriage. Why should a hush money gift be considered? Auntie and Uncle should suffice. As if I’m desperate for her to call me Mom." Mrs. Twain declared stubbornly.

David snorted quietly before pulling Mary to sit back down. "Let’s eat."

His expression seemed to say, "Don’t bother with them."

Mary glanced nervously from Mr. Locke to Mrs. Twain, then sneaked a peek at David. What was going on here?

She was stuck navigating the awkward tension while the man beside her remained perfectly calm, even scooping her a bowl of mushroom soup. "Drink this first to warm up, then move on to some rice and dishes."

As he spoke, David reached to serve her a bowl of rice.

Watching her son dote so attentively on his wife, Mrs. Twain turned an resentful gaze toward Mr. Locke.

Mr. Locke nodded knowingly and hurriedly offered, "Honey, I’ll scoop some soup for you."

"Do I not have hands of my own?" Mrs. Twain barked back brusquely.

Mary, meanwhile, glanced awkwardly at her collection of bowls in front of her and turned to address David hesitantly. "I can do it myself."

"Why use your hands when you’ve got a husband to help?" David shot back without skipping a beat.

Mrs. Twain, clearly provoked, nearly shot to her feet before being held back by Mr. Locke. "Honey, calm down! I’ll fetch some dishes for you."

As Mary squirmed uncomfortably at the spectacle, she stole glances at her husband, whose unaffected demeanor made her feel both exasperated and amused. Was he not the slightest bit worried his antics might push his mom to the edge?

"Am I handsome?" sensing her lingering gaze, David teased lightly.

Startled, Mary darted a look at the pair across the table. Then she buried her head back into her meal without saying a word.

David chuckled, his laughter ringing with mischief.

The Lockes, sitting across the table, "..." Is this smug idiot really their son?

By the end of the meal, Mary realized she didn’t actually taste much of the food she had just consumed, though her stomach felt satisfyingly full. Quietly, she was thankful that Mia Anderson and her younger brother had been sent off by David beforehand; had they been present during this ordeal, she imagined they would’ve suffered indigestion alongside her.

After wrapping up dinner, David led Mary upstairs.

As soon as they stepped inside, Mary tugged at David’s sleeve. "Isn’t it bad for you to treat Auntie and Uncle like that?"

"Why would it be bad? It’s because they tried to intimidate you from the get-go. No one gets to bully my wife," David replied nonchalantly.

Mary recalled Mrs. Locke’s words from earlier and pinched the bridge of her nose sheepishly. "You didn’t tell your parents before we got married, did you?"

The question caught David off guard. A moment of silence passed before he nodded. "Getting the marriage certificate was kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision. I didn’t have time to inform them—and then, later, I forgot. I imagine they returned after seeing the domestic news coverage."

"Oh." Although Mary had already guessed as much from the way the Lockes behaved tonight, hearing David confirm it still stirred a pang of sadness within her. When they got married, he hadn’t seriously considered their future together, had he?

"Upset?" David’s sharp instincts picked up on the slight drop in Mary’s tone as he looked down at her.

Mary shook her head, offering a half-hearted reply. "No. After all, getting the marriage certificate wasn’t exactly planned."

"Everything unplanned is premeditated," David said teasingly, giving her upturned nose a playful pinch.

Mary swatted his hand away and stared at him, her widened eyes clearly turning over the implications of his words. Wait—was he saying even the marriage certificate was premeditated?

David caught the pensive look and nodded as he smirked. "Yep, exactly what you’re thinking."

Mary’s cheeks warmed. "Thinking what? Stop making stuff up."

"Then why are you blushing, Miss Scott?" David leaned close, his tone dripping with flirtation.

"I’m not! I... I just got warm after eating hot pot!" she argued, her voice flustered as she turned to leave. But the moment Mary spun around, David’s big hand snatched her back, forcing her to tilt her face upwards in irritation. "What now?"

"What now?" David’s grin turned devilish as he whispered suggestively, "Guess."

With that, David leaned in for a kiss.

Knock knock knock!

Just as his lips were about to meet hers, loud knocking interrupted the mood, causing Mary’s eyes to fly open in shock. How could she forget the Lockes were still around? She immediately shoved David away.

Frustrated, David licked his back teeth. Narrowing his eyes, he shot back, "What?"

Those two impatient words positively oozed hostility!