Samuel Quentin's eyes widened.
His pupils were full of disbelief as he reached out and pinched a handful of flesh on his thigh. As the pain hit him, it dispelled his drowsiness and made it abundantly clear to him that this was not an illusion.
"Husband, why are you pinching yourself?"
Emily Well's face was stunningly beautiful. Her eyes showed slight concern as she tried to reach out and steady his arm, but Samuel dodged her.
Her lips moved and her eyes welled up, filled with sadness. The pain in her voice bordered on a sob.
"Husband, are... are you tired of me? Or... or do you not want me anymore?"
Seeing her like this, Samuel felt a wave of fear rise in his heart. An inexplicable feeling of suffocation filled his chest, a feeling of detachment he could not understand.
All of this was too strange.
He raised a hand to rub his throbbing forehead, not meeting her gaze as he patiently explained, "Miss, you have the wrong person. I am not your husband."
