Dear Ex-wife Marry Me novel (Maja) novel Chapter 1371

Maja wanted to object, to say of course she loved him, that she'd been waiting for his return, always concerned about his well-being.

But now, her feelings were tangled, pushed to a corner where she couldn't quite express herself.

She yearned to love him, yet her mind was incessantly interrupted by some unseen force.

She felt nauseous, but when she tried to physically expel the sensation, nothing came out.

Her head wasn't in pain; it was just a swirling anxiety, a sense of dread that clung to her with every second she spent by Ian's side.

Ian yanked off his tie and covered her eyes with it.

He couldn't bear to see her calm gaze any longer.

Darkness enveloped her, and the physical sensations seemed magnified a thousandfold.

"Mmph."

Ian's passion was unrelenting, pressing her into the plush carpet as if he wished to consume her whole.

"Ian."

She pleaded, desperate to pull the blindfold off.

But Ian only tightened his grip.

"If you've forgotten, then feel it now, remember how I love you," he demanded.

"I haven't forgotten, I really haven't," she insisted.

"Maja, you've changed. You're like a domesticated pet now, as if someone's plucked your sharp teeth."

She fell silent, the words striking her like a bolt of lightning.

Ian's sweat dripped onto her chest, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"But I don't blame you. I'll cure you," he vowed.

Maja was almost dispassionate in her response, her mind acknowledging that he was indeed skilled.

She thought returning to Ian would make her happy, but it didn't.

[Dr. Herrington, am I sick? I thought I'd be thrilled, but I can't seem to muster any other emotion.]

The words she hesitated to say to Ian came out naturally to Phelps.

Phelps glanced at the message, his eyebrow arching slightly.

Anyone present would notice the small red mole beneath his left earlobe.

[Maja, you never loved him, that's why. I sent you back to see for yourself. If you want to return, you're always welcome.]

After sending the message, he sipped from the glass of red wine before him.

Across from him sat a man, his mirror image.

They shared a name, Phelps, and were identical in every gesture, the result of years of training. They were twins, indistinguishable to all but the most discerning eye.