The Reborn Wife Of The Tyrant CEO
Chapter 380 - 376

Chapter 380: Chapter 376

I couldn’t be sure. The moment the thought took root, though, I couldn’t suppress it.

If Catherine simply ignored me during my ordeal, I might have accused her of having an icy heart but if she intentionally tied that rope around my ankle, that’s a different kettle of fish. Wasn’t that akin to attempted murder?

"Damon, could you fetch me some wet wipes from my bag? My hands are all greasy," Catherine requested, shaking her oil-slicked hands in mild exasperation.

Catherine had brought a bag, which was placed just a few feet away from me.

Damon responded, "Sure, in a moment.""

I got up first, "I’ll get it for you!"

Seeing me approach her bag, Catherine’s expression momentarily flinched in resistance, she quickly stepped forward, "It’s okay, I’ll get it. God knows this bag is already dirty enough."

She then moved her bag away to a place beyond my sight, only then did she proceed to take out a pack of wet wipes.

This action of hers seemed a bit odd. Was she worried that I would have seen something in her bag? Or was she just being protective of her privacy?

"What’s up?" My distracted demeanor caught Jones’s attention; he asked in a low voice.

"Nothing," I snapped back to reality, shaking my head.

A while later, Catherine and Damon prepared lunch, which was all seafood, complemented by a bottle of wine provided by the hotel. The spread was quite lavish.

Jones and I sat on one side, with Damon and Catherine opposite us.

Catherine seemed quite pleased with her culinary achievement. She beamed at us, "Ms. Brooks, Jones, please try it and tell me how you like it!"

"It should be delicious. It looks very fresh," I praised, even before starting my meal.

"Then, eat more," Catherine shot Jones a meaningful look, "Jones, shouldn’t you be more attentive to your wife? She’s hurt her hand. You should be helping her with her food, or even feeding her."

Damon chimed in unexpectedly, "She’s not left-handed."

That was true. I had injured my left hand, but I was right-handed, so my daily activities weren’t much affected, especially when it came to something as simple as eating.

Even though that was the case, when Damon said it, it sounded strange.

Even Jones’s expression cooled a bit, but Catherine remained relaxed, even offering Damon a smile, "Right, I forgot one can eat with one hand. I just wanted to give Jones an opportunity to show his caring side. He’s always been so slow on the emotional uptake. I’m worried that Ms. Brooks might not stand his wooden nature.""

I laughed lightly, and turned my head towards Jones, "He’s just a bit introverted in front of others, but he’s actually quite attentive and considerate."

Since Catherine was so keen on highlighting my relationship with Jones to Damon, I decided to play along.

Hearing my praise, Jones was pleasantly surprised, and a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. He seemed to relish my compliments.

Damon, sitting opposite us, had an inscrutable expression, mostly keeping his eyes on his plate and not participating much in our conversation.

That meal was quite a bore for me, having to face Damon and Catherine. Only Catherine was enjoying herself, initiating most of the topics.

"I need to go to the restroom," Catherine announced midway through the meal.

After her departure, it was just Jones, Damon, and me left. My gaze fell on the bag lying on the edge of the table: She was so protective of that bag earlier. Why didn’t she just take it with her?

I reached for a piece of lobster, and ’accidentally’ smeared my hand with sauce, "Where are the wipes? I think Dr. Catherine has some in her bag. Jones, could you fetch them for me?"

Jones didn’t think twice, and only glanced at Damon once. After all, meddling with someone else’s belongings wasn’t really polite, especially with Damon present.

Damon responded indifferently, "Yeah, go ahead."

Jones reached for the bag and as he opened it. I deliberately took a few glances. That’s when I noticed something odd. There was a piece of rope in the bag, identical in pattern and thickness to the one that had been tied around my ankle underwater!

At that moment, a strange feeling overcame me. If Catherine really was the one behind it, why didn’t she just dispose of the rope in the ocean instead of keeping part of it in her bag? Wasn’t she leaving evidence behind?

Also, her bag which she was so protective of earlier was then left unattended as she went to the restroom. It was as if she was deliberately drawing my attention and giving me a chance to discover it.

I could have pulled out the rope and confronted Catherine with it as evidence when she returned. But I decided against it. Instead, I took the wipes, cleaned my hands, and continued eating as if nothing had happened.

A few minutes later, Catherine returned. The first thing she did was check her bag. Noticing it had been moved, she glanced at me.

"Catherine, I got my hands dirty and took a few wipes from your bag," I explained proactively.

"Oh, it’s okay."

My calm demeanor apparently took Catherine aback. She seemed slightly confused, and her eyes hinted at an expectation that I would have said more, but I stayed silent.

Observing my silence, Catherine furrowed her brows slightly and her chatter subsequently lessened.

After lunch, our outing ended and we sailed back to shore. Catherine kept probing me about my injury on the way back. I had the distinct feeling that she wanted me to expose her.

Once back, our rooms were next to each other. As I was about to enter my room, Catherine said, "Ms. Brooks, do take care of your wound. If it leaves a scar, I could help you with scar removal."

"Thanks," I replied distantly, then entered my room, with Jones following behind.

Once we were inside, Jones spoke, "The rope in Catherine’s bag is identical to the one that was tied around your ankle.""

So, he too had noticed but chose not to bring it up then. He was always one to think things through, and was never impulsive. And I was glad he wasn’t.

"I know." I sank into my chair, feeling a tinge of fatigue. The wound on my palm throbbed slightly, making it impossible to do anything with my left hand for the next few days.

"Did she do it?" Jones’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing within.

"It feels like she wants me to accuse her. Otherwise, why would she leave the bag? She could have taken it with her, or simply discarded the rope. What’s the point of leaving it in the bag?" I reasoned, "The rope looks like the type used to tie up lobsters. We can ask around the hotel later to confirm."