The Runaway Groom novel Chapter 8

‘Didn’t he just leave me with that pervert? Why would he show up here? To laugh at me? Hah!’ thought Irene inwardly.

"Isaac Jefferson?" Irene snapped, pointing at the man despite the killing intent swirling around him, boosted by liquid courage. "You are… a real b*stard!"

Isaac's face darkened instantly, while Stan and Mrs. Watson kept their heads down in fearful silence.

Even so, Irene shambled forward, grabbing Isaac's necktie and pulling him toward herself. "You thought I wanted to marry you? You think you're some sort of god?"

The alcoholic fumes she breathed left Isaac frowning, and anger brewed in his eyes as he deftly caught her wrist. "You're crazy."

He thought she was willing to play along with any man.

He had tried to corner her and make her ask for a divorce, but she was as dumb as a donkey and refused to yield.

Still, he had changed his mind after she left with Harvey; she was his wife, even if he felt repulsed that she had been defiled.

"You're the crazy one." Irene's hands never stopped clawing at him drunkenly, in retaliation against Isaac for letting that man molest her!

Glowering, Isaac dragged her upstairs by the wrist, but she tried to shake him off. "Let me go! Let me go..."

Bang!

He kicked open the bedroom door and flung her inside, causing her to stumble and drop to her knees.

"Ah… Urgh…" she moaned as she clutched her kneecaps, and her voice gave Isaac pause.

That voice…

His mind seemed to return to that night for a split second.

She sounded a lot like Whitney.

"Isaac Jefferson!"

Irene looked up to glare hatefully at him.

Not only was he spiteful, but he was also violent—she was already bleeding from her knees.

Isaac came to his senses as he met her gaze.

Striding inside and narrowing his eyes, he growled, "You aren't drunk, are you?"

As a matter of fact, Irene was drunk, but her head was clear.

She propped herself up with both hands, but her ankles caved and she stumbled. She had to catch something beside her to maintain her balance.

However, though she had managed to maintain her balance, she suddenly felt a coldness filling the room.

She slowly looked up to find Isaac's dark, icy gaze, and realized that she had caught his pants with both hands, which would have slipped off if it was not for his belt.

Even so, that already left Isaac's business attire a mess from all her pulling and flailing.

Irene quickly let go, but the legs of his pants were already wrinkled and floppy.

Flustered, she averted her eyes. "I-I didn't mean to do that."

Isaac sneered. "Really?"

"Of course."

Wait…

She shot Isaac a glare. "What are you talking about?"

"What, you don't know yourself? Your own character?"