Avery's Game Of Revenge
Chapter 178: Everything...

Chapter 178: Everything...

Archie turned and walked over, opening it just enough to speak to whoever was on the other side. After a brief exchange, he returned with a luxurious fur coat, which he draped carefully over her shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment as if reluctant to let her go.

"The driver’s ready," he said, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of tension. He helped her to her feet, his touch firm yet tender, and they walked out of the room together.

Minutes later, they arrived at the garage. The cool night air brushed against Avery’s skin as he guided her to the waiting car. Before she stepped inside, she turned to him, her expression softening.

"You should get home early," she said, her voice quiet but insistent. She hesitated, then added, "We still have to talk."

Archie’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he interrupted her before she could continue. "Of course," he said, his tone teasing yet earnest. "I did say earlier today that tonight was the night, didn’t I? Or, as I put it then, ’This ends tonight.’"

Avery rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement in her expression as she slid into the car. The door closed behind her, and she leaned against the window, her gaze fixed on him as he stood there, watching her with an intensity that made her heart race.

As the car pulled away, she could still see him in the distance, his figure growing smaller but no less commanding. Her phone pinged, and she looked down to see a message from him:

"Three years of waiting. One more hour won’t kill me. But when I get home, you’d better be ready."

Avery’s lips curved into a small smile, her fingers tightening around her phone. She didn’t reply, but her heart was already racing with anticipation. Tonight wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning.

☆♡♡☆

Archie stepped into the villa, his patience worn thin after an hour of forced restraint. The moment the door closed behind him, Titus, the butler, appeared with practiced efficiency.

"Where’s my wife?" he demanded, his voice low but edged with urgency.

The older man bowed slightly. "Welcome, Master Donovan. I led her to the master bedroom earlier, sir. I assumed you would be sharing it tonight."

"We will," Archie confirmed, already moving past him. His steps were measured at first, but as he ascended the stairs, they quickened, almost impatient. If he were watching someone else behave like this, he’d scoff at their lack of control, at the way they rushed like a starved man toward a feast.

But here he was.

Married for three years. Three years of distance, of restraint, of carefully constructed walls. And yet, the moment he had tasted her surrender in that theatre hallway, something primal had snapped inside him.

Because then... he knew it wasn’t like previous times when she wanted him as a relief to her pain or to her pent up desires, but she had really wanted him. Even when he helped her find relief and she could have walked away from him instantly, she chose to stay and had looked up at him with pure desire in her eyes.

His wife had wanted him, just as he had always needed her to.

He reached the bedroom door and pushed it open, stepping inside with singular focus. His fingers worked quickly—cufflinks discarded, shoes kicked off, watch placed on the dresser. He removed his glasses, cleaned them with deliberate precision, then slid them back on, his blue eyes sharp behind the lenses.

Then, he shrugged off his tux jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt when he felt it. Her presence.

But she wasn’t in front of him.

She was behind him.

Which meant she hadn’t been here when he arrived, like the Butler had thought she was.

He turned, brow lifting. "Where have you—?"

"The library," Avery answered smoothly, stepping into view from behind him. Her fingers trailed up his chest, her touch deliberate, teasing. "You have a lot of interesting books in there."

Her brown eyes locked onto his, dark with challenge, and Archie didn’t hesitate. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss, his hands gripping her waist as he lifted her effortlessly. Her legs wrapped around him on instinct, her body molding against his, lasting for the next several seconds before she pushed him away.

Archie stilled, studying her. "What’s wrong?" His voice was rough. "You look different from earlier."

Instead of answering, she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the exposed sliver of his chest, right over the tattoo inked in elegant cursive: Ava.

"Nothing’s wrong," she murmured against his skin. "But we need to talk. Remember?"

"Why? When I told you last night, you said you wanted to forget it and just live in the moment."

Avery shrugged.

"I don’t want to, anymore. I want to know everything... the truth, no matter how bad it may sound, because I found out that’s the only way I will be able to wrap my head around a few incidents that might occur from today on."

Archie exhaled through his nose, his expression bored.

"Can’t it be postponed until tomorrow?"

"Definitely not." She smirked, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his collarbone. "I have a feeling if we don’t talk now, we won’t get the chance tomorrow morning."

Archie tilted his head, a slow, knowing grin curving his lips. "You’re right. We’d be too busy doing other things, to make out the time to talk."

He set her down, watching as she walked to the bed and sat, her legs crossed, her expression unreadable. He strode to the open closet, shrugging off his shirt and hanging it on the laundry rack.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, his tone deceptively casual.

Avery didn’t hesitate. "Everything."

His fingers stilled.

"Your marriage. How you really feel about me and why. Why you helped me and not Arthur and Emma. The dividends. And an explanation for every cryptic thing you’ve ever said to me, and everything you’ve done behind my back that I don’t know about yet." She paused, "Just... everything."

Archie’s hand froze mid-air.

*Things he’d done that he kept hidden.*

He turned, meeting her gaze fully.

She sat there, her long brown hair still streaked with remnants of black strands, her eyes earnest, searching. Her lips were slightly swollen from his kisses, her nose still faintly red from earlier. From him.

And her outfit which almost forced a laugh out of his lips, because he knew the meaning behind them.

A cropped white blouse and denim shorts was a deliberate choice meaning a barrier; a message.

’No distractions until we talk.’