He Heard Me Planning to Date Hot Guys

Start Reading

Lord Ashton Hall, the heir to the Capital Circle, heard me mention male escorts on the day of our divorce?

Ashton Hall looked at the papers on the table, his hand, which usually fingered prayer beads, paused.

I lowered my gaze demurely, my voice choked: His sister is back, I don't want you to be in a difficult position, Mr. Hall. Let's part ways amicably.

Inside, I was ecstatic: [Sign it! A billion! Male escorts! Jerry's abs!]

The next second, the string of prayer beads in Ashton's hand suddenly snapped, scattering the beads across the floor.

He sharply looked up, his eyes bloodshot, fixated on me.

"Monica Hall, you want to use my money to feel whose abs?"

I silently scoffed inwardly: [How did this bastard know I wanted to feel abs? Is he bluffing?]

Outwardly, I cried even harder: "No one I only have you"

"How can you accuse me?"

I wiped away tears, reaching for his sleeve, my fingertips trembling, playing the part of utter helplessness.

Inside, I cursed: [What a big show-off!]

[We're getting a divorce, why does it matter whose abs I touch?]

[Forget Jerry, once the money's in my account, I'll book Tom and Jack too!]

[Every night, they'll take turns giving me a striptease!]

Ashton's mouth twitched violently, his expression grim.

He flung my hand away, and I nearly crashed into the coffee table.

"Fine, very well," he gnashed, his voice cold and cutting.

"Tom? Jack? Monica, your appetite isn't small."

My heart skipped a beat: [What the hell? How does he know about Tom and Jack?]

[Has my club membership been exposed?]

[No way, I used my mom's ID for that!]

Panic flared inside.

But I firmly believed that as long as I didn't admit it, he had no proof.

I looked up, my swollen eyes bewildered and wronged.

"Ashton, what are you talking about? What Tom? Is that his sister's cat?"

Ashton took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly.

When he opened them again, those eyes blazed with consuming fire.

He picked up the divorce papers and shredded them.

Confetti of paper rained down.

I froze.

[My billion! My happy place!]

[Ashton Hall, you son of a bitch! If you're not signing, why tear the paper? Printing costs money!]

Ashton strode forward, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look up at him.

His thumb was rough, calloused from years of fingering prayer beads, and it chafed painfully against my skin.

"You want to take the money and leave? To go hire male escorts?"

He leaned in close, his hot breath fanning my face, possessive and aggressive.

"Monica, you can forget about that for the rest of your life."

With that, he pulled out his phone, dialed his assistant, his voice chilling.

"Cancel all supplementary cards under Monica's name, including her mother's."

"Also, find out all the 'Jerrys,' 'Toms,' and 'Jacks' in every club in Eastlake City, and blacklist them all."

Me: ""

[Ashton Hall! Damn you to hell!]

The call ended.

My heart bled.

The money was gone.

The escorts were gone too.

Sorrow welled up in my heart.

This time, I genuinely cried.

Cried with heartfelt sincerity.

"Ashton Hall, you can't do this to me! I've already stepped aside, why do you still humiliate me?"

I collapsed to the floor, weeping tragically.

Inside, I cursed viciously: [May you never get it up! May you be cuckolded! May you clog the toilet when you poop!]

Ashton's face darkened, veins throbbing at his temples.

He suddenly bent down, sweeping me up from the floor.

He strode upstairs.

The world spun.

I screamed in terror: "What are you doing! Put me down!"

Ashton kicked open the bedroom door, roughly tossing me onto the large bed.

Before I could scramble up, his tall frame pressed down on me, and with one hand, he untied his tie, binding my wrists above my head.

Those eyes, usually cold and ascetic, were now tinged with intense desire and ruthlessness.

"Cursing me to never get it up?" He sneered.

His knee forcefully pushed my legs apart: "Monica, tonight I'll show you who's truly 'incapable.'"

"As for that Jerry, he'd better pray I don't find him."

"Otherwise, I'll let him know what 'truly exquisite touch' feels like."

I closed my eyes, bracing for the storm.

However, just as his kiss was about to descend, the phone on the bedside table suddenly rang.

The ringtone was shrill, a death knell and a lifeline at once.

Ashton froze, his brows tightly furrowed.

The desire in his eyes hadn't faded, tinged with annoyance.

I seized the chance to slip out from under him, wrapping myself in the duvet and shrinking into the corner of the bed, my face terrified.

[Answer it! Pick it up!]

[A late-night call, who else could it be but that pure-hearted Lily White, Clara Reed?]

[Thank you, Clara Reed! Thank you, Telecom Company! Thank you, heavens!]

[As long as he leaves now, I'm willing to kowtow to Clara Reed three times!]

Ashton's hand, holding the phone, stiffened. He gave me a deep, unreadable look.

But he answered the call anyway.

"Ashton I'm so scared there's thunder, can you please come see me?"

The voice on the other end was soft and sweet, trembling, clearly audible in the dead of night.

It was her, indeed.

I immediately put on my understanding, magnanimous, and virtuous wife face, sniffing but my voice still tearful.

"Is that his sister? She just returned to the country, she must not be used to it. You should go be with her, don't worry about me"

Inside: [Go! Go now! Preferably to her bed and don't come back! I want this huge king-sized bed all to myself!]

Ashton sneered.

He ignored Clara on the other end and hung up the phone directly.

"You're quite generous," he threw the phone back onto the bedside table, making me flinch.

"Since you want me to go so badly, I absolutely won't."

He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, stripped naked in front of me, lifted the duvet, and climbed into bed.

He reached out, pulling me into his embrace.

"Sleep."

Me: ""

[You're insane! Your 'pure love' is calling, go to her!]

[What are you doing here? If you don't leave, how can I hire escorts!]

That night, I spent it tightly held in Ashtons embrace.

The next day, I was woken by commotion downstairs.

Going down, the living room was piled high with expensive luggage, as if someone was moving in.

Clara Reed, wearing a hospital gown and looking as if she might faint at any moment, was sitting on the sofa, wiping away tears.

Seeing Ashton and me descend, she immediately stood up, swaying slightly.

"Ashton, I'm so sorry I was just too scared last night, so I had to bother you two."

Her eyes were red, and she looked at me pitifully: "Monica, you don't mind, do you? I'm not well, and Ashton doesn't feel comfortable leaving me alone outside."

I sneered inwardly: [Mind? Like hell I mind!]

[You moving in will not only share Ashton's perverse intensity, but you might even push me out, then I can legitimately split the assets!]

[Quick! Quick, say you want the master bedroom! Steal that bastard Ashton!]

I immediately forced a smile even weaker than hers, walked over, and took her hand.

"How could I, sister? This was always your home. Ashton and I treat you like a real sister."

Ashton, in the middle of fastening his cufflinks, paused and looked up at me, his gaze chilling.

Clara was clearly surprised by my easygoingness, she froze for a moment, then smugly looked at Ashton.

"Ashton, Monica is so understanding."

Ashton said nothing, walking directly to the dining room: "Let's eat first."

At the dining table, the atmosphere was strange.

Clara naturally sat to Ashton's leftthat was originally my seat.

I didn't care at all, cheerfully taking the seat opposite.

A maid served breakfast: plain congee and side dishes.

Clara took a sip of the congee, then suddenly frowned, clutching her chest and gagging.

"What's wrong?" Ashton asked blandly.

"Nothing, it's just this congee tastes a bit fishy."

Clara leaned weakly towards Ashton: "Ashton, you know, I'm used to Western food from abroad. This kind of Chinese my stomach isn't feeling well."

I rolled my eyes inwardly: [Fishy? How could seafood congee not be fishy?]

[Who are you putting on an act for? Your stomach isn't upset, your brain is bubbling.]

[If you don't like it, don't eat it. Better to starve to death than waste food.]

Ashton's hand, holding the spoon, trembled. He suddenly picked up a spoonful of cilantro, which Clara hated, and placed it in my bowl.

"If you don't like it, don't force it," he said to Clara, then turned to me, his tone significant: "Monica isn't picky. Eat more."

I looked at the pile of green cilantro, my face grim.

I nodded tearfully: "Thank you, darling. I love cilantro."

Then, with a look of resignation, I shoved the wad of cilantro into my mouth, swallowing it without even chewing.

Inside, I was furious: [Ashton Hall! Damn you!]

[You just wait, next time I'll add something extra to your bowl too!]

[I'll spit in your coffee! Make you drink it like an idiot!]

Ashton's hand, reaching for his coffee, paused mid-air.

He looked at the coffee cup, then at my seemingly obedient face.

He placed the cup on the table, coffee splashing out.

"What's wrong, Ashton?" Clara jumped.

Ashton's face was livid. He poured the expensive Blue Mountain coffee directly into the nearby trash can.

"Not drinking it."

He stood up, looking down at me.

His voice squeezed through gritted teeth: "It's disgusting."

I blinked innocently: [This is enough to be disgusted? He must hate Clara's perfume. That smell is deadly.]

Clara's face fell, she bit her lip.

She seemed utterly wronged: "Ashton, did I do something wrong?"

Ashton ignored her, simply dropping a cold remark: "There's a party tonight. You both come."

With that, he strode away.

I wanted to slip away too.

Just as I stood up, Clara called me.

She dropped her pretense of fragility, her eyes contemptuous, scanning me up and down.

"Monica Hall, do you know the caliber of tonight's party?"

She walked over, reaching out to adjust my collar, a familiar gesture.

Her voice oozed superiority: "That's a top-tier event in the Capital Circle, attended by old money families. You, a country bumpkin who's never even touched a piano, will only embarrass Ashton if you go."

Me: ""

[Oh? Can't keep up the act anymore?]

Clara leaned close to my ear, whispering viciously: "If you know what's good for you, give up the position of Mrs. Hall."

"Otherwise, tonight I'll make you lose face in front of all the city's elites."

I looked at her twisted face and smiled.

"Sister is right," I stepped back, bowing respectfully, "I truly don't understand anything. I'll have to rely on sister to look after me tonight."

Inside: [Excellent! Hurry up and make me lose face! The more, the better!]

[Hopefully, Ashton will be so embarrassed he'll divorce me on the spot tonight!]

[You said it. If you don't mess up my divorce plan tonight, you're a loser!]

Clara smiled, satisfied, thinking she had intimidated me.

But she didn't see Ashton, who had already reached the door, suddenly stop.

He looked back, his gaze falling on Clara's smug face.

Then he swept his eyes over my demure expression, a cruel curve playing on his lips.

"Want a divorce?" he murmured, so softly only the air could hear.

"Dream on."

A top-tier private club in the Capital.

The lighting was ambient, seductive.

Clara, in a designer gown, held a wine glass, intimately walking beside Ashton.

I followed demurely behind, playing the part of the long-suffering, overshadowed wife.

A group of bejeweled socialites gathered around.

Clara smiled gracefully, proactively taking my hand and introducing me to everyone.

"This is Monica," she emphasized, "Though she grew up in the countryside and hasn't seen much of the world."

"But she's extremely talented, skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting."

A ripple of suppressed laughter spread through the crowd.

The socialites whispered, their gazes brazenly scrutinizing me, filled with disdain.

Clara then pointed to a vintage harp nearby.

Her smile was radiant: "Monica, why don't you play a tune for everyone to liven things up?"

I immediately recoiled, waving my hands frantically.

My eyes instantly reddened.

"Sister, I really can't I've never learned the harp," my voice trembled, fully embodying the self-conscious, timid country girl.

Inside, however, I was on fire: [Play what, you idiot!]

[I used to be a star DJ at 'The Nightclub,' my hand speed was so fast I could spark!]

[Even the boss had to light my cigarette!]

[What's a harp? I refuse to play!]

[Hurry up and make fun of me! The more the whole room laughs, the better!]

[Make Ashton feel like I've utterly shamed him, and tonight he'll sign the divorce papers!]

Ashton was holding a wine glass, exchanging pleasantries with someone.

Hearing my inner thoughts, his wrist suddenly stiffened.

He turned, his gaze fixed on my intertwined hands, which looked tense and helpless.

Seeing me motionless, Clara relentlessly walked over, grabbing my arm and dragging me towards the harp.

"Monica, don't be shy," her grip was incredibly strong, her nails almost digging into my flesh.

"Even a simple tune is a gesture. Ashton wants to hear it too."

I stumbled, tears almost falling.

[Pinching me? You old manipulative witch, you dare pinch me?]

[When I get my billion, I'll hire ten burly women to dance in front of your house every day, deafening you!]

Ashton strode forward. He grabbed Clara's wrist, ruthlessly pulling it away.

Clara gasped in pain, her smile freezing.

Ashton directly pulled me back behind him, his actions forceful.

He coldly scanned the room, his gaze finally settling on Clara's pale face.

"She's not playing," his low voice boomed through the noisy hall.

Silence instantly descended.

"My wife, Mrs. Hall, has delicate hands," he took out a handkerchief, wiped his hand, and tossed it into a trash can.

"Only suitable for counting money, not for playing music to entertain others."

Everyone fell silent.

A few socialites who had laughed earlier turned pale.

I, hiding behind Ashton, was completely stunned.

[What's gotten into this bastard? He actually stood up for me?]

[No, he must be afraid I'd play terribly and embarrass him! Yes, that must be it!]

[Capitalists care most about their reputation!]

Ashton's erect back stiffened. He sharply turned to glare at me, his eyes threatening to devour me.

I quickly lowered my head, continuing to play the part of a timid quail.

Just then, a waiter passed by with a tray, on which lay an intricately carved pure silver cufflink.

This cufflink was a distinctive mark of Ashton's family, rumored to be hand-polished by the top craftsmen of the Hall family, symbolizing the family's honor and legacy. Only direct core members were allowed to wear it.

Clara's eyes lit up, and she looked at Ashton with tenderness.

"Ashton, this cufflink is so beautiful," her voice was very soft, full of implication.

Ashton's face was expressionless. He picked up the cufflink directly.

"You like it?" he asked.

Clara shyly lowered her head, extending her hands, ready to receive it.

"Thank you, Ashton" Her words were cut short.

Ashton walked directly past her, picked up the cufflink, and tossed it into my lap.

The force of it made my chest ache.

"Play with it," Ashton looked down at me, his eyes ruthless.

"If it's not enough, I'll have someone make you more when we get back."

He leaned close to my ear, his voice barely a whisper.

"Don't spend all your time thinking about those worthless trinkets."

Clara's hand froze in mid-air. She stared disbelievingly at the cufflink in my lap, her face pale, her lips trembling slightly.

All eyes in the room were fixed on me.

I clutched the heavy cufflink, my mind a blank.

[It's not for her? It's for me?]

[If we divorce, can this thing be considered my personal property? How much could it sell for?]

I hadn't even had time to mentally appraise it.

Clara's finger trembled, and her goblet tilted. More than half a glass of dark red wine splashed onto my gown, flowing down my collarbone and deep into my neckline.