Chapter 153: Hand over the gun.

Nerissa’s POV

I’m just coming out of the shower when my phone pings. With a towel wrapped around my body, I reach for it on the bedside table, expecting a notification from one of the companies I ordered skincare products from.

Instead, I find two pictures.

I frown and open the first one. It’s a blurry picture of a man’s side profile.

I recognise him immediately.

Lysander.

My eyes narrow as I swipe to the next picture and there she is.

The fucking bimbo.

Her blonde hair, her ridiculously revealing clothes, and that face I would recognise even in my sleep.

Beneath the pictures is an address.

I stare at the screen, looking at the pictures again and again, as though doing so might somehow change what I’m seeing.

It’s the two of them together in a room. The fucking bitch threatens me with a gun and he’s with her right now?.

Oh. Okay...I’m being for real now.

Lysander is fucking done for.

He dares to cheat on me again? Who the hell does he think he’s married to?

I toss my phone onto the bed and drag both hands down my face.

No. Absolutely fucking not.

I will not be like my mother, i will not spend my life making excuses for a man who thinks he can crawl into another woman’s bed whenever he feels like it. I won’t smile through the humiliation, pretend I don’t know what’s happening, or convince myself that a man’s betrayal is something I should learn to tolerate.

I would rather call off this entire fucking marriage and have our families go back to killing each other.

At least then I’d know exactly where I stood.

There’s only so much I can can take, and a cheating husband isn’t on my list of things I’m willing to endure.

I can tolerate Lysander’s arrogance, his controlling nature, his ridiculous possessiveness and the way he sometimes behaves as though the entire world belongs to him.

Hell, I’ve even tolerated waking up with his name permanently tattooed on my skin.

But I will not tolerate a cheating husband.

Not now....Not ever.

I hurry into my wardrobe, pull on a fitted black dress, and slip into a pair of shoes. I barely bother with my hair, gathering it into a loose knot before grabbing my phone and handbag.

My anger is so deep that I can practically feel it crawling beneath my skin.

By the time I reach downstairs, I’ve already imagined at least ten different ways to deal with my husband.....None of them ends particularly well for him.

I march towards the dining area and find Hakeem standing beside the table, talking to Linda.

"Good evening, Linda."

The older woman turns towards me, her expression immediately changing.

"What’s wrong, child?"

I pause.

"Nothing, Linda. I’ll be back soon."

She studies my face, clearly unconvinced.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

I turn towards Hakeem.

"Let’s go."

He straightens immediately, adjusting his shirt.

"Yes, ma’am."

Linda looks between us.

"Don’t forget to eat something before you go too far, child."

I manage a small smile.

"I won’t."

Hakeem leads the way outside while I follow behind him. A few moments later, he brings the car around and opens the passenger door for me.

I climb inside and fasten my seat belt as he settles back behind the wheel.

"Where to, ma’am?"

I read the address from my phone and rumble it to him.

His eyes flick briefly towards me through the rearview mirror.

"Okay."

He starts the engine and drives away from the house.

For the next twenty minutes, I remain unusually quiet.

My phone sits in my lap, the two pictures still open on the screen. Every time I look at Lysander’s side profile, my anger finds another reason to grow.

What the hell is he doing there? And why is she there too?

I clench my jaw.

If that bastard thinks I’m going to sit at home waiting for him to return and explain himself, then he’s about to receive a very unpleasant surprise.

Twenty minutes later, the car comes to a stop in front of a luxurious penthouse building.

I step out, adjust my dress, and look up at the building.

Hakeem joins me and I turn towards him.

"Give me a gun."

His eyes bulge.

"What?"

"I know you have a gun, Hakeem. Probably guns. I just need one."

He looks at me as though I’ve suddenly grown another head.

"But what for?"

I give him a look that makes him swallow.

"Are you in danger?"

"I’m fine, Hakeem. The only person who will be in danger is your boss. Now hand over the gun."

He opens his mouth, closes it, then looks towards the building.

For a moment, he seems to be considering whether he should pretend he didn’t hear me.

Unfortunately for him, I’m not in the mood for negotiations.

"Ma’am..."

"Hakeem. Hand over the gun."

He exhales sharply.

"Fuck. I’m going to be in so much trouble for this."

He reaches behind his back and pulls out a handgun tucked into his waistband. He handles it carefully before extending it towards me.

I take it.

"Be careful with it, ma’am. It’s a Beretta 92FS. The safety is on and you can unlo...."

I pull off the safety and fire a shot into the air. The sound is muffled by the silencer, but Hakeem still flinches.

I glance at him.

"I know how to use a gun, Hakeem."

He closes his mouth.

Good.

I check the weapon briefly before lowering it and turning towards the entrance. He immediately falls into step behind me.

I stop and look over my shoulder.

"You can stay here."

"But the boss said....."

"I don’t care what your boss said. Stay."

He hesitates for a bit....

"Yes, ma’am."

I turn away before he can change his mind.

The building is quiet and beautifully maintained. I follow the directions from the message, making my way towards the private penthouse entrance.

My shoes squeak against the polished floor as I approach the door. For a brief moment, I consider kicking it open.....Actually, that might be satisfying.

But before I can decide whether I should, the door opens and an older woman steps out, carrying a small handbag. She looks like she’s about to leave.

I stop immediately.

"Good evening."

She looks up, and her face brightens.

"Good evening, dear."

I offer her a polite smile.

"I’m Nerissa. Lysander’s wife."

Her expression changes with recognition.

"Oh! His wife?"

"Yes."

"Well, it’s lovely to finally meet you."

She smiles warmly, and I return it, although my patience is hanging by a very thin thread.

"He’s inside?" I ask.

"Yes, dear. Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable. I was just about leaving."

"Thank you."

She steps aside to let me pass and I watch as she walks away.

Then I step inside and shut the door behind me.