Divorce The Duke, Marry The King!
Chapter 46: Who is Marcel?

Chapter 46: Who is Marcel?

Quinn scoffed, stunned by the lengths Belle was willing to go just to follow him. Was this about Kia? She didn’t even love him, so why was she suddenly acting like a devoted, loving wife?

"No," he replied curtly.

That was all it took for Belle to lose her composure.

"Look, you are not the boss of me! Stop with these manipulative acts if you value yourself!" She snapped, her voice trembling with frustration. "You hurt me! You made me miscarry, cheated on me, married another woman, physically abused me, and now you dare come back acting like a righteous, caring man? I demand you take me to the king now, or I swear I will leave on my own!"

Her clenched fists shook as she let out all the emotions she had bottled up, her anger crackling like a storm.

Quinn, unmoved, countered sharply, "If we are pointing fingers, then tell me, who is Marcel? Is he the father of the child we lost? Or is there yet another man I don’t know about? How many times did you sneak away to meet him while I was gone?"

Belle froze, her anger momentarily replaced by sheer disbelief. "What?!" She exclaimed, her expression one of shock.

Where had he even gotten such ridiculous accusations? Marcel? Marcel was her childhood friend, someone she hadn’t seen in years, and that was *because of Quinn.*

"Quinn, stop it!" She retorted, her voice trembling. "I have never cheated on you! I haven’t seen Marcel in ages. The child we lost was yours!" Tears welled in her eyes as she held her ground. "Have you forgotten the night you came home drunk and entered my room?"

Her words hung in the air, her voice cracking under the weight of her pain.

"And yet, someone’s been sending letters professing their love to you," Quinn accused, his tone bitter. He stormed to the drawer, yanking it open to reveal a bundle of letters. Tossing them to the floor, he stepped back, arms crossed.

Belle hesitated, her tears falling freely as she bent down to pick one up. Her heart sank as she read the words. It was unmistakably Marcel’s handwriting. How could she not have known about these letters? Why would Marcel write such misleading words to her? She had rejected his proposal before meeting Quinn, how had he not moved on?

"I... I can explain, Quinn," she stammered, her voice cracking. "Marcel is my childhood friend. He liked me, but I rejected him. These letters...he must have written them because he couldn’t move on."

Her explanation only fueled Quinn’s rage.

He strode toward her, grabbing her arm with a bruising grip. His eyes darkened, fury radiating off him. "Then why didn’t you tell me about him?" He growled, his voice low and dangerous. "If you rejected him, why keep it a secret? What else are you hiding from me?"

"Ah! You are hurting me, Quinn!" Belle squeaked, her voice strained as she winced in pain. She dropped her free hand to his, trying to pry herself free, but he was beyond reason. His grip tightened, cutting off circulation and causing her eyes to well with fresh tears.

"Qui... Quinn, plea...se," she stammered, her voice barely audible as her breath faltered under the suffocating grip of his hand. Her vision blurred, and the world around her began to fade.

Desperation took over as she weakly pressed her hand against his chest, hoping to reach the man she once knew. The unexpected gesture jolted him. A sudden shift in his demeanor caused him to release her abruptly, as if burned by his own actions.

Belle crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. Pain radiated through her arm as she cradled it, her breaths coming in short, labored bursts.

"You have done it again," she whispered, her voice trembling with quiet sobs. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pushed herself up. Without another word, she stumbled toward the cabin door, leaving him frozen in place.

Quinn stood rooted, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Hatred for himself coursed through his veins. He despised how he always lost control when it came to her. Even when he had hurt her in the past, he had spent sleepless nights haunted by her pain, and by the memory of their lost child.

During their time apart, those nightmares had grown unbearable. His resentment toward Sofia had festered, while his longing for Belle had only deepened. And yet, despite all of this, he couldn’t bring himself to trust her completely. How could he, with the thought of Marcel lingering in his mind?

Lost in his self-loathing, he didn’t realize she had left the cabin until minutes later. His heart sank as he bolted outside, only to find Hezekiah, perched on a horse, with Belle already seated in front of him.

"You shouldn’t have brought her here," Hezekiah said coldly before turning his horse and riding off with Belle.

Quinn’s chest tightened. His gaze followed them until they disappeared into the distance. The moment they were gone, he slammed his fist into the wall beside him. The sharp sting of his knuckles splitting open did nothing to quell the storm raging inside him. Blood trickled down his hand, but he ignored it and stormed out of the cabin.

"General, the King insisted we wipe out the vampires overnight," his assistant, Ezekiel, reported, handing him a slip of paper.

Quinn glanced at the note, his expression hardening as he read its contents. "Let it be for now," he said tersely, crumpling the paper and tossing it aside.

He strode to his horse and mounted it in one fluid motion. "We leave for my estate," he commanded. "Send a few men to follow the King back."

Ezekiel sighed as Quinn rode off, shaking his head. "When will you let go of your ego and face the truth?" He murmured to himself.

Ezekiel couldn’t help but reflect on how much Belle had softened the once cold and unapproachable general. Before her, Quinn was ruthless, feared even by his own subordinates, who often relied on Ezekiel to relay messages out of terror.

But Belle had brought light to Quinn’s dark world. She had awakened emotions they hadn’t known he was capable of feeling. It was ironic, and tragic how a mate could alter a person’s life so profoundly, only to leave them tangled in a web of unresolved pain.