when she left he went crazy (Hope and Christopher)

CHAPTER 137

When she left. He went crazy

Chapter 137: Don’t Listen, Don’t Look, Don’t Believe

“How do you know?” The moment I asked, I felt a bit foolish. Given Jerry’s connection with Kimberly, of course, he

would know.

Seeing that Jerry had no intention of taking the dress, I offered it again, only to hear him say with a half–smile, “Mrs. Valence, do you want to see me wearing it? It’s just a dress. I gave it to you–why would I take it back?”

“Gift?” I echoed, taken aback. This dress was quite extravagant, easily worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Teury crossed his arms, completely avoiding my attempt to return the dress, and said with a touch of arrogance, “Do you think I’d let you be my date for free?”

“Alright then,” I conceded, realizing that further insistence would be futile and somewhat pretentious. After all, for someone like Jerry, this amount of money was trivial.

I let a small smile play on my lips. “Thank you.”

Jerry’s expression turned more serious. “If you really want to thank me, do me a favor.”

“I’m not being your date again,” I quickly retorted.

Jerry chuckled, “Get your mind out of the gutter. This Sunday, I need you to pick someone up from Jacquar University. I might be tied up that day, so I’m counting on you.”

I frowned. “Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” he replied, matter–of–factly. Text © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

Hearing that, the pieces began to fall into place.

Earlier, Jerry had mentioned he was here for the schooling, and I had initially thought it was for an illegitimate child. But given his age, an illegitimate child old enough for college was improbable.

Was it a young girlfriend?

I glanced at him and, noting the pair of women’s slippers under his entryway cabinet, smiled knowingly. “Alright, I

agree.”

Besides, my primary focus lately had been negotiating the collaboration with the RF Group. Once the funds came through, our other work could truly begin. I’d likely be free on weekends, making it easy to pick someone up.

The next day, just as I got up, the doorbell rang. Opening the door, I found Christopher standing there in a handmade suit. He casually stepped in and switched to his slippers.

Christopher placed the breakfast, packed in a thermal container, on the dining table. “The chef from Valence Manor made it,” he said, guiding me to a chair. ‘Eat while it’s hot. Barry told me these are your favorites.”

I was still bewildered. “Christopher Valence, haven’t you grasped it yet? We’re still getting divorced; you don’t have to

Don’t Listen, Don’t Look, Don’t Believe

be so nice to me.”

Christopher gently tied back my loose hair to make it easier for me to drink the porridge, his voice soothing and deep. “You didn’t understand me either. I said, I’m serious about winning you back.”

He exuded a confident assurance that if he persisted, I would eventually yield to his charms.

And to my chagrin, I knew he was probably right.

1 was a bit annoyed and fumed, “But I don’t need your half–hearted efforts. Christopher Valence, why are you suddenly trying so hard to win me back?”

I continued, “Is it because there’s no one else around you, so you see me as a easy target? Or is it just because you’re

unwilling to let go?”

Christopher’s fingers on the nape of my neck tensed. “Neither,” he said.

“Then why?” I scoffed, rising to face him. “Don’t tell me it’s because you like me. You need Donald Quill to remind you of my birthday. You rely on Barry to tell you what I like to eat. So, tell me, what do you truly know about me?”

He sighed, guilt shadowing his features. “It’s my fault,” he admitted softly, reaching to embrace me. His tone was a blend of regret and tenderness. “I didn’t know you well enough before. I always saw you as independent and resilient but never took the time to truly understand or love you as a husband should.”

“But I’ll try harder from now on,” he vowed, his voice barely a whisper. As if anticipating my rejection, he quickly added, “I have to go to the office now. Please, eat your breakfast. Let me know what you’d like, and I’ll bring it to you

tomorrow.”

“Christopher…” I began, but he was already gone.

I looked at the still–steaming breakfast on the table, sighed, and sat back down to eat. Wasting food was not something I could bring myself to do.

Every morning for several days in a row, Christopher appeared at my door, punctual as clockwork. If I didn’t open the door, he wouldn’t make a fuss; he’d just hang the breakfast on the doorknob and leave.

Each day, the breakfast was different, always accompanied by notes:

[Today, it’s not Barry who told me. I remember you liked these when you had breakfast at the Manor last time.j

[The weather forecast says it will snow this Sunday. Want to build a snowman together?]

[When will you let me in?]

[Hope Royston, I miss you.]

As I held these notes, I felt something inside me begin to thaw, but I stubbornly chose to ignore it.

One day, the doorbell rang incessantly, as though Christopher wouldn’t leave until I answered. Finally, out of sheer exasperation, I opened the door.

14:41 Mon, 1 Jul

Chapter 137: Don’t Listen, Don’t Look, Don’t Believe

“Today, I need to say this in person,” he declared, standing there, his blue eyes locking onto mine. With no preamble, he continued, “No matter what happens, you must trust me, okay?”

A chill of foreboding ran through me. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he replied, his cool hand gently patting my head. “Just take care of yourself, and don’t listen to, watch, or believe anything else.”

I had more questions, a burgeoning need for answers, but at that moment his phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, expression darkened. He handed me the breakfast. “I might not have time to come by for a while, but someone will bring you breakfast. Eat well and take care.”

He answered the call and, with a serious expression, turned and walked away.

Could it be that Noah’s situation was still unresolved? But surely, it couldn’t be grave enough to make Christopher so guarded.

After breakfast, I scoured the news online but found nothing of note. Later that afternoon, Jerry sent me a string of

messages.

his

[It’s about time to pick her up, don’t forget.]

[Gate 2 of Jacquar University.]

Jerry hadn’t provided a name or photo of the person I was meant to meet. I replied with a sense of frustration.

[What’s her name?]

Jerry: [Just wait for her to find you.]

Resigned, I grabbed my car keys and headed out. As I started my car downstairs, a cold blade suddenly pressed against my neck from behind.

I slammed on the brakes, my body tingling. “Who are you, and how did you get in my car?”

“Drive, don’t stop,” snarled a sinister voice. The person was crouched behind the driver’s seat, hidden from view in the rearview mirror. From the voice and build, I surmised it was a large man.

My hesitation was met with an even firmer press of the blade, causing a sharp sting. Teeth gritted, the man threatened, “I said drive! Take Sunset Boulevard and keep going. Don’t try any tricks, got it?

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