Chapter 16
“It’s okay. I’m here.”
Marcus instructed Cordelia to go inside and close the door. She obeyed, but he did not follow her. Instead, there were a few dull thuds outside, followed by the sound of agonized moans and cries from the men.
Cordelia hurried to the window. Marcus had taken down the thugs. They were bruised, swollen, and now begging for mercy on their knees. The ground in front of the house was stained with blood. Despite this, Marcus didn’t seem satisfied. He picked up the stick Cordelia had used earlier and slammed it down on one of the men’s legs.
“Try to harm my wife again, and it won’t just be your leg that’s broken next time!” Marcus growled, his voice thick with threat.
The thugs scrambled away in fear, and Cordelia quickly shut the door, trying to steady her breath despite the rapid thumping of her heart.
Marcus entered moments later. His clothes were stained with dried blood, but Cordelia remained silent, her lips parted as she fought back the urge to speak.
“Were you frightened just now?” Marcus asked, his hand resting on her shoulder.
Cordelia shook her head but instinctively reached up to hug him, burying her face in his chest. The softness of her touch and the vulnerability she showed struck a chord deep in Marcus.
“You’re tougher than I imagined,” he chuckled. “You actually chased them away with a stick when they tried to harm you.”
“What else could I do?” Cordelia looked up at him, defiant. “No one else helped, and you weren’t here. I had no choice but to stand up for myself…”
“Mm, it’s my fault. I should’ve been here to keep you company,” Marcus said, his voice low. “But I don’t think those guys will be daring to come back anytime soon.”
Cordelia nestled closer, burying her face into his chest and giggling softly. Her hand brushed across his ripped chest, her pulse quickening as she felt the solid muscle beneath. She hadn’t expected him to be able to fight so fiercely or deal with the men so swiftly. Why did people still call him a coward?
“Wash up and get changed,” Cordelia said, pulling away. “I’ll prepare dinner.”
Marcus nodded and gave her a long, appraising look, which made Cordelia pause.
“Do I have something on my face?” she asked, confused by his expression.
“No,” he replied with a smile. “I just think… you’re not the way they described you.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, frowning.
“Before we got married, people said the Jenner heiress was spoiled, had a terrible temper, and didn’t know how to do anything. But you keep the house clean, you cook so well, and you handle every situation with such calm…” Marcus moved closer to her, a teasing smile on his lips. “I’m starting to question whether you’re actually Yelena Jenner.”
Cordelia froze, her face draining of color. She forced a nervous smile, though her eyes were evasive as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“I—of course, I’m Yelena.” She stammered, her voice betraying her nervousness. “Rumors, right? They’re always different from the truth. Don’t listen to them. I am the heiress of the Jenners. You didn’t marry the wrong person.”
Marcus chuckled, genuinely amused. He could wait. He’d wait until the day she was ready to confess.
Just as Cordelia hurried back into the kitchen, someone knocked on the door urgently.
“Marcus, you home?”