He once again warned her not to go onto the balcony.
Could it be that he genuinely believed she had gone there last night to end her life?
And now, he insists on knowing her whereabouts 24 hours a day—on what grounds does he demand that?
"Not acceptable?" he grumbled, a trace of irritation in his tone. "Then I can't promise I won't go check on that safe box. Hmph."
"Don't!" she cried, her voice rising with emotion. But in the very next moment, aware that such outbursts might only deepen his suspicions, she lowered her head, her voice catching as she whispered, "I promise I'll do it."
"Don't cry," he chided curtly.
"I'm not…"
Although a sour mix of regret and anxiety welled in her chest—the sting not of sorrow itself but sparked by the thought of what lay hidden in that safe—it nearly brought tears to her eyes.
Just as a tear was about to escape, he suddenly kissed her lips.
She was utterly stunned. What was he doing? Did he even know the effect he was having on her?
