Return, My Love: Wooing the Neglected Ex-Wife

Chapter 838:

After hanging up, Crowell attempted to show Michael the door. But the moment Crowell turned, Michael’s fist collided with his face. He had been holding back that punch for too long. It sent Crowell reeling backward, crashing into the wall.

Before Crowell could regain his bearings, Michael yanked him by the collar, his voice low and dangerous. “If you ever speak like that again, I’ll make sure you regret it so deeply you’ll wish you were never born.”

Crowell seized Michael’s wrist, eyes wide with fear, yet a taunting grin still danced on his lips. “Michael, you’re trying to ruin my marriage, and now you’re hitting me?”

Before Crowell could finish, Michael’s fist crashed into his face again, sending a sharp pain through his left cheek.

Crowell spat a mouthful of blood, sneering through the pain. “So, Michael, are you pissed off for Lacey? Or is it for Fiona?”

“Fuck you,” Michael growled, his anger barely contained.noveldrama

From inside the room, the woman had been listening to the ruckus. The fight was violent, and she wasn’t sure whether to call the police—after all, she’d get dragged into it too.

After ten minutes, she heard Michael slam the door on his way out.

She quickly stepped out to find Crowell collapsed, bloodied and barely able to stand. She realized a call to the police wasn’t necessary; just an ambulance would do. Meanwhile, Michael was checking the bruise on his mouth as he waited for the elevator.

The doors slid open, and he nearly bumped into Dulce and Johnny. A sudden heaviness weighed on his chest.

For a moment, Michael assumed they were there for a hotel room.

Dulce was taken aback. Her eyes swept over Michael, and she couldn’t help but notice how different he seemed today.

Normally, whenever she saw Michael, he was impeccably dressed, exuding calm and composure. But now, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the fabric wrinkled with a few dark stains of blood, and his suit jacket hung casually over his shoulder, drawing attention to his broad shoulders and long, straight legs. Michael’s thumb rested against the corner of his mouth, and a fierce intensity lingered in his eyes.

As Dulce looked closer, she saw blood staining his lips. He looked like he’d just come from a fight.

Johnny nervously cleared his throat. “Michael…”

Michael, still processing the scene, blinked before responding, “What are you doing here?”

Just as Johnny began to speak, Dulce cut him off sharply. “It’s none of your business.”

Her words were cold, carrying an unmistakable distance and indifference. Michael, ever perceptive, didn’t press the issue. He wasn’t naive. What else could a man and a woman be doing at a hotel?

Johnny scratched his head. “Aren’t you getting in the elevator?”

“I’ll wait for the next one,” Michael replied. He wasn’t about to play the role of a third wheel.

He stepped back, watching as the elevator doors slid shut.

In the brief moment before they closed completely, Dulce let go of Johnny’s arm. Though the elevator doors separated them, the air between Michael and Dulce was thick with unspoken tension. Neither of them dared to meet the other’s gaze.

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