Substitute Bride: Utterly Pampered by Her Billionaire Husband-Chapter 1174: You Should Go!

"Does it still hurt?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Dianna thought for a moment and nodded, "It hurts."

Mort straightened up and knelt beside her, "Let me see if the ointment from last night didn’t work?"

The anti-swelling and pain-relieving ointment was applied to her after bathing last night.

Dianna quickly curled up her legs, her cheeks flushed with two rosy hues, "Don’t look, I’m fine."

"Dianna," he called her softly, "be good, let me see if you’re hurt."

Dianna felt her whole body weaken at his call. He was always dominant and overbearing, and she didn’t know how to refuse him.

Just then, a sudden gush of warmth surged below, and Dianna looked at the man, "Mort, I’m sorry, my period started."

"Lying to me?" Mort was skeptical. His slender fingers lifted her skirt for a look and was finally convinced.

He quickly moved away from her, his large palm wrapped around her waist, massaging gently, "Do you need me to do anything?"

"Can you get me some sanitary napkins..."

...

Dianna changed her clothes and put on a sanitary napkin. Her whole body felt limp, and she didn’t want to move, so she lay on the rattan chair basking in the sun.

Mort also didn’t go out today, and the wide rattan chair was spacious enough for two. Though his long legs were sticking out, his robust body lay flat, allowing Dianna to comfortably nestle in his arms.

Dianna was asleep, while Mort was holding a document, reading it.

Just then, there was a "knock knock" at the door, and an alluring voice came from outside, "Sir Thorne, I brought some fruit."

Mort’s gaze didn’t leave the document as he parted his thin lips, "Come in."

The busty girl walked in and brought a fruit platter.

Now the dazzling morning light was pouring through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, coating the rattan chair in a golden hue. Mort wore a clean black shirt and long black trousers, the high-quality fabric ironed without a single crease. His legs were so long that he turned the long pants into cropped ones, revealing his lean ankles. The man bathed in the light exuded an indescribable masculine charm.

The busty girl sneaked a few glances at the man and saw Dianna lying against his chest. The girl was asleep, her butterfly-wing-like eyelashes casting a charming silhouette under her lovely eyelids, looking like a lazy little kitten.

And the man protected this little kitten as if he were her owner.

The busty girl placed the fruit platter on the chair and then knelt beside Mort. She picked a grape, peeled it, and personally fed it to Mort’s lips.

"Sir Thorne, have some grapes."

Mort, still reading the document, suddenly found a grape presented to him. His deep eyes fell on the busty girl’s face.

The busty girl was wearing a low-cut maid outfit today, and from Mort’s angle, he could easily see the cleavage she displayed.

Mort squinted his deep eyes, and his gaze instantly turned gloomy and stern.

Just then, the little kitten in his arms moved, and Dianna opened her eyes.

"Leave," he uttered with two cold words from his thin lips.

The busty girl sensed the man’s displeasure and swiftly left the room, filled with fear and trepidation.

Throwing the document onto the chair beside, Mort reached out to stroke the girl’s silky hair, "Awake?"

"Mm." Dianna hummed softly, in fact, she had been awake for a while, since the busty girl knocked on the door.

"Are you feeling uncomfortable anywhere? I’ll get you some water."

Dianna pushed him away, got up from the rattan chair.

"Dianna," Mort reached out his large palm to grasp her delicate wrist, "What’s wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Dianna tried to withdraw her wrist, "I want to go back."

"Dianna," Mort pulled her smoothly into his embrace with a slight force, "I feel like you’re acting strange, moody, quicker to turn than flipping a book. Are you hiding something from me? Speak up."

"No, let go of me..." Dianna pushed him away, refusing his embrace.

Mort refused to let go, his strong palm encircled her slender waist, trapping her in his arms. He gazed down at her handsome features as she fidgeted in his embrace.

He sensed her unusual behavior yesterday. He thought he might have done something wrong but upon careful reflection, couldn’t figure out what.

He felt a bit uneasy, always thinking she was hiding something in her heart.

"Dianna, what’s actually wrong with you? Just speak out, you weren’t like this before!" he rebuked in a deep voice.

Dianna lifted her head to look at him, her eyes slightly reddened, "Mort, I’m just being difficult, now you see me clearly. Go find another woman."

What?

Mort’s expression changed on the spot, his entire facial features darkened abruptly, but he controlled his temper, speaking in a low voice, "Don’t ever say this again!"

"Mort, I’m not joking. Don’t you like busty women? There are plenty outside, go find them!" Dianna forcefully shook off his large palm.

Mort’s large palm, hanging at his side, quickly clenched into a fist, his eyes gaining a hint of red as he stared at her fiercely, then kicked over the rattan chair.

Bang.

The documents and the fruit platter all fell onto the carpet, in a mess. The rattan chair couldn’t withstand his force and had already shattered.

Dianna stopped talking; it was the first time he had lost his temper with her in such a long time.

The room’s atmosphere sank to an extreme point, oppressive enough to stifle. Mort stood with his hands on his hips, his muscular chest rising and falling. Soon, he gave her a fierce glance, his eyes bloodshot, "Do you really want me to find another woman?"

Dianna lowered her long lashes, not speaking.

"Damn it, deaf or mute, speak up to me!" Mort shouted.

Dianna bit her moist lower lip with her delicate white teeth, "Just go."

Just go.

She told him to go.

Mort said nothing more, striding out with his long legs.

With a "boom," he slammed the door shut loudly.

He left.

He really left.

Dianna walked to the bed and lay helplessly on the soft large bed, curling her fragile body into a small ball. She burrowed into the blanket, which still held his masculine scent, smelling truly pleasant.

Her fair fingers clutched the corner of the blanket, burying her little face into it, into his scent. Her heart felt very sad, truly sad.

She didn’t want to throw a tantrum, she knew she was annoying like this, but she couldn’t control herself.

Although he was very close, so very close, she felt like she couldn’t hold onto him.

She wanted desperately to hold onto him, to make him belong solely to her, but she knew how selfish she was.

Where did he go?

Her eyes gradually welled up, Dianna was about to cry out loud.

But just then, with a "boom," the door was kicked open.

Dianna lifted her eyes to see a tall, strong figure standing at the door. Mort was back.

He was holding a single red rose in his hand, thrusting it towards her with a bad attitude, "Here, it’s for you!"