The commotion grew louder and clearer.

Harper's coquettishness could be faintly heard.

"Smith, why did you turn your back?"

"Did I do something wrong to make you angry and dislike me?"

Smith replied gently at once.

"How could that be?"

"Just... I'm afraid of hurting you. If you shed a tear, it would hurt more than a bullet hitting me! '

"Harper's tender voice murmured.

"Then kiss me, will you?"

"I want to leave your mark on me and tell the men who pursue me that I belong to you."

"You... Could it be that you deliberately don't touch me to keep Lyra out of suspicion? I'm going abroad. Aren't I more important to you than her?"

Hearing that.

Lyra's heart immediately became tense.

If Smith touched Harper, the relationship would be completely ruined.

The time seemed to stretch on every second.

But soon, the thing she feared most happened.

The next door began to hear panting and the creaking of the wooden bed.

"Harper, what nonsense are you talking about?"

"Every time I had sex with Lyra before, I imagined it was your face, or I would feel nauseous and want to throw up if I touched it!"

"If it weren't for my mom forcing me to keep a son, I'd rather be single for you all my life!"

Lyra's nose tingled.

Her hands trembled as she clung to a corner of the quilt.

She thought the body wouldn't lie, he had accepted everything about her long ago.

In the first year, Smith would only bite her collarbone when she was most drunk, and he would be very aggressive, never asking her for mercy.

In the second year, Smith merged with her only in the dark, and his movements became much gentler.

In the third year, Smith turned on the light while awake, his eyes full of affection, carefully helped her remove her clothes, and kissed every part of her body.

The tenderness she had waited for three years.

It was something Harper could offer with just a snap of her finger.

Throughout the entire night, there were fifteen fierce battles next door.

Each time Harper's wheezing would be twice as high, as if deliberately for her to hear.

Early the next morning.

The guest room door was pushed open forcefully.

A white bedsheet, mixed with speckles of blood and the scent of heather flowers, landed heavily on Lyra's face.

The post-event filth smeared her face.

Lyra suddenly stood up, took the sheet away and threw it on the ground.

"What do you want to do?

Harper chuckled.

"Nanny, if you don't come and clean yourself, do I have to ask you to do it?"

'How about that? Has Smith ever been so tough on you? '

Lyra, suppressing her anger, asked coldly, "Miss Harper, is that honorable?"

"Shall I not wash it and let it dry in the yard outside for everyone to see?"

Saying that, she pretended to take the sheet out of the door.

Harper grabbed the bed quickly, her face flushed to her ears, and shouted, "Don't move!"

"You're just jealous! I can't stand Smith being nice to me! '

Hardly had the words been spoken.

Smith was straightening the cuffs of his military uniform as he returned to the yard outside with his breakfast.

"What's up?"