Rebirth Swapped Bride: Married to a Ruthless Cursed billionaire Book2-Chapter 167: Removing the stitches

Chapter 167: Removing the stitches
Sarah’s place had offered two blissful days of freedom, until Lucas’s phone call abruptly summoned her back to the villa.
She’d braced herself to find Nathalie waiting there, but to her surprise, the villa was empty except for him.
The moment she stepped into the grand hall, her gaze landed on him lounging on the sofa in casual attire, his eyes lifting indifferently to skim over her.
"Back so soon? I was starting to think you’d decided to live at Sarah’s forever."
"I would’ve loved to," Beauty shot back, tilting her chin up defiantly, her voice laced with frost.
"But apparently, someone wouldn’t allow it." Lucas smirked. "I was just worried you’d disturb Sarah’s rest.
Wouldn’t want her complaining to me later, would we?" Beauty scoffed, too irritated to dignify that with a response.
As if.
Sarah would never see me as a nuisance—this is just his petty jealousy talking.
She turned to leave, but before she could take a step, a strong hand clamped around her wrist, yanking her backward.
She stumbled, landing squarely in his lap.
His sharp gaze pinned her in place.
"It’s been days since you last saw your husband.
Don’t you have anything to say to me?"
A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she struggled against his iron grip, twisting in vain.
Defeated, she settled for jostling angrily in his lap, her movements sharp with frustration.
"You’d better sit still," he warned, his voice dropping low.
"Unless you *want* me to get ideas.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you."
The threat hit her like a lightning strike.
Instantly, she froze, barely daring to breathe, terrified of provoking him into another round of merciless teasing—or worse.
His arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against his chest.
Her heart hammered wildly, her teeth sinking into her lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
"You were the one who said this marriage was in name only," she hissed, her almond-shaped eyes blazing as she glared up at him, delicate brows furrowed in defiance.
"So why are you touching me?"
A pair of large hands gently tousled her hair, sending tingling waves through her body.
She trembled nervously as a low voice murmured in her ear, "Just a hug, that’s all.
I’m not asking for anything more.
Haven’t you missed your husband after all this time?
By the way, I haven’t even asked why you decided to cut your hair short."
Beauty brushed her fingers through her cropped locks and bangs, replying coldly, "I just felt like changing my hairstyle.
It’s my hair—do I need permission from the great CEO Marson to cut it?"
Every time this girl spoke with that sarcastic tone, it grated on his nerves.
His sharp brows furrowed in displeasure.
Was it so wrong to show concern?
Why was she treating him like an enemy?
Did she really despise him that much?
He gripped her chin firmly.
"I don’t need you to every little thing to me, but can’t I at least care about my own wife?"
Wife? What a joke.
Since when had he ever treated her as his wife?
She was nothing more than a tool for his pleasure.
"Does the scar still hurt?
The hospital told you to come back today to remove the stitches.
Why did you cut bangs to hide it?"
The sudden tenderness caught her off guard, leaving her unsure where to put her hands.
She pressed her lips together, nearly choking on her own breath.
Beauty turned her face away, unwilling to let him see the caterpillar-like scar on her forehead.
Lowering her eyes, she muttered, "This way, no one can see it when my hair covers it."
His large fingers brushed aside her bangs, and he pressed a feather-light kiss on the scar.
"From now on, keep this scar hidden—only for me to see.
It’s my mark on my woman.
No other man gets to look at it."
Beauty: "..." What kind of twisted logic was this?
How ridiculously overbearing!
So it’s just a scar from a caterpillar bite? And he won’t even let others see it—what a possessive old man.
"In my heart, this scar is the most beautiful mark between us.
It belongs to me alone for the rest of our lives.
No other man gets to lay eyes on it.
If anyone dares touch it, I’ll chop off their hands."
"How can someone be this domineering?
Even a scar isn’t spared."
Beauty’s face flushed as she looked up at him, seemingly oblivious to how intimately they were entwined.
Her hands rested on his waist, while her arms had somehow looped around his neck, clinging to him like an affectionate lamb, her eyes bright and lively.
Ah, women.
So quick to forget the pain once the wound heals.
Did he ever spare a thought for you when he was with other women, leaving you crouched alone with swollen, tear-stained eyes?
"Silly woman, I told you—this scar is our mark.
It’s mine."
There was no point arguing with him anyway.
She’d never win.
Strangely, Lucas wasn’t lashing out at her today.
Instead, he held her gently in his arms—a far cry from the raving lunatic who had screamed at her over the phone that night.
Men really were bizarre creatures, especially someone like Lucas with his split personality.
"How’s Sarah been these past couple of days?
I asked you to stay with her because I was worried she might be unstable.
I wanted someone to talk to her, to keep her from spiraling into dark thoughts.
With her uncle’s sentencing coming up, both Drake and I are doing everything we can to help her family."
Lucas had reverted to his usual composed self, though a trace of coldness lingered in his gaze.
The mention of Sarah made her sigh.
"She doesn’t say much, but you can tell she’s hurting.
Especially with that Drake—after what he did to Sarah, he just vanished again.
Is this how all you men are?
Play with a woman’s feelings and then disappear without a word?"
Lucas found himself inexplicably taking the blame for Drake’s actions.
His brows furrowed slightly, irritation flashing across his face.
He lifted her chin with deliberate emphasis, his words measured and intense: "Don’t compare me to Drake.
We’re nothing alike, and I don’t want us to end up like him and Sarah.
Do you understand?"
His words left her speechless, choking on her reply.
It wasn’t until the family doctor arrived that he finally scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom, the others trailing behind.
Beauty lay on the bed, her face slightly pale, her fingers clutching Lucas’s hand so tightly that her palm grew damp with sweat.
"Don’t be nervous, Mrs. Marson.
The stitches will come out quickly, and your wound has healed very well.
There’s no need to worry," the doctor reassured her.
With practice ease, the doctor picked up the scissors and began removing the fine sutures on her forehead.
Beauty squeezed her eyes shut, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might leap out of her throat.
Though Lucas’s expression remained unreadable, the warmth of his fingers betrayed his tension.
"All done.
Just be mindful of your diet, Mrs. Marson.
There’s no need to fear a prominent scar—it will fade significantly once fully healed," the doctor said briskly.
Without another word, he gathered his tools and motioned for the household staff to follow him out, sparing himself the indignity of being dismissed outright by Lucas.