Substitute Bride: Utterly Pampered by Her Billionaire Husband

Chapter 1347: Tonight I’ll Wait for You

This Helen was sent here to serve Morgan Ashworth!

Willow Crawford’s eyes instantly went cold. "Young Master Morgan, then I won’t disturb you. Enjoy yourself to the fullest!"

With that, Willow turned around and left.

"Willow!" Morgan Ashworth reached out and grabbed Willow from behind, pulling her tightly into his arms. He hadn’t seen her for two days, his strong arms tightening as he locked her in his embrace. He buried his face against her neck. "Are you jealous?"

His voice was low and hoarse as he asked, his warm breath brushing against her ear.

Right now Willow couldn’t stand his touch. She kept reminding herself that all of this was fake. She was fed up with his false affection; she wasn’t going to fall for it again.

"Morgan Ashworth, take your filthy hands off me. Don’t touch me!"

Who knew if he’d already touched that Helen. People from The Merfolk Kingdom really weren’t anything good—couldn’t wait to arrange a bed‑warmer maid for him. She felt he was filthy as hell.

Willow knew she shouldn’t be this angry, but she couldn’t control herself. The appearance of this Helen was like a spark that instantly ignited her fury.

"Willow, I’m not filthy. I haven’t touched that Helen. Other than you, I haven’t touched anyone!"

"Enough!" Willow shoved him away hard. Her eyes were red as she glared at him. "Morgan Ashworth, whether you’ve touched anyone else has nothing to do with me. You don’t need to explain yourself to me. We’re already over!"

She said: we’re already over.

The long, narrow corners of Morgan’s eyes were dyed with a stubborn tinge of crimson. "Willow, I’ll say it again too. You don’t get to decide when it’s over. It only counts when I say so."

He really was strong‑armed and domineering. Who did he think he was?

Willow flicked her sleeve and left.

But Morgan Ashworth rushed over, cupping her small face in his big hands, and lowered his head to kiss her red lips.

Willow never expected him to suddenly force a kiss on her, especially with other people still here—his subordinates, and that delicate Helen.

The subordinates’ expressions all changed, while that Helen sucked in a sharp breath...

Willow’s small face flushed and paled by turns, shame and anger flooding her. What the hell did he take her for, to dare humiliate her like this?

Willow twisted her little head, refusing to let him kiss her. Her nails raked two bloody scratches across his neck.

"Morgan Ashworth, you bastard, let me go!" she shouted angrily.

Morgan’s eyes were red too. The more she refused to let him kiss her, the more he wanted to. She was his—no one could take her away.

At that moment Willow seized the chance, lifting her leg and bending her knee, striking straight and ruthlessly toward his crotch.

Hiss.

Morgan groaned in pain. She’d nailed him solidly; his handsome face went deathly pale.

"Let me go! Morgan Ashworth, I’m warning you—if you dare touch me again next time, I’ll ruin you!" Willow spat out the vicious warning, then strode off.

Morgan’s face turned completely dark. He’d been too worked up and off guard, which was why she’d managed to nail him.

She hadn’t held back at all; it hurt like hell. Morgan even suspected she really did want to cripple him.

One of his subordinates stepped forward. "Young Master, this Princess Willow is really too bold. Not only did she dare barge into our turf and order you around, she even dared to lay hands on you. Should we capture her and give her a good lesson?"

Morgan shot over a cold, razor‑sharp look. "You try laying a finger on her and see what happens."

The subordinate, "...I wouldn’t dare."

"She orders me around and hits me—what’s that got to do with you? As long as I’m willing, that’s all that matters." Tossing out the cold line, Morgan turned and went back to his room.

The subordinate, "..." Fine. He could see their Young Master really had been bewitched by this Princess Willow. This was dangerous.

...

In the room, Morgan stood by the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. There were two bloody scratches on his neck, courtesy of her nails just now.

The little kitten who used to obediently curl up in his arms had finally turned into a little wildcat; he couldn’t even get away with a kiss.

Hiss.

Morgan bared his teeth from the pain. That knee to his crotch really fucking hurt.

Just then, a sweet, delicate voice sounded behind him. "Young Master, you’re hurt. Let me treat your wounds for you."

Helen came in, holding some disinfectant supplies in her hands, looking at Morgan with a face full of distress.

Morgan frowned. "Who let you in?"

"I..."

"Get out!" Morgan showed no pity for delicate flowers, spitting out the two words coldly.

Helen’s face went white. Just now she’d seen how he tolerated and doted on Princess Willow in every way; why did he turn into a block of ice when it came to her?

They were both women—no, both beauties—this difference in treatment was way too much.

"Young Master, where do you want me to go? I’m yours. Serving you is my duty." As she spoke, Helen leaned in toward him.

Morgan reached out and shoved Helen away directly.

Thud.

Helen slammed into the wall, a huge bump rising on her forehead. "Young Master..."

"Get out. Don’t make me repeat myself a third time." Morgan’s eyes were filled with disgust.

His gaze was terrifying, like he was about to devour someone alive. Helen’s scalp prickled, and she ran off with her tail between her legs.

...

Willow went back home. Morgan Ashworth’s side had handled things quickly. The IP address had been exposed—it was a hacker address from an overseas site, shady to begin with. That photo was also proven to be photoshopped. Online opinion immediately swung to one side, agreeing that the kissing photo was just a misunderstanding.

After all, with so many halos on her, no one believed Willow would do something like that.

Willow lay in bed, unable to sleep no matter what. Her phone rang again; it was Prince Rosen calling.

Prince Rosen had called her many times, but she hadn’t answered any of them.

This Rosen was no longer the Rosen she used to know. He’d changed—changed into someone who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

She didn’t know how long had passed before she finally drifted off, half‑awake, half‑asleep. Her sleep was restless. Later she vaguely heard a string of bells ringing.

The ring of those bells was very pleasant, chiming in a rhythmic pattern, like a little abyss pulling her down, deeper and deeper, until she was completely submerged.

Willow wanted to wake up, but even though she tried with all her might, she was still dragged under.

...

The next morning, Willow opened her eyes. She found the sunlight outside too glaring, so she raised her hand to block it.

Just then, "ding"—her phone chimed with a text.

It was from Morgan Ashworth.

Willow opened the message. Morgan Ashworth: Willow, I’m leaving here tonight.

Morgan Ashworth was leaving tonight.

Willow stared blankly for a while and didn’t reply.

Another "ding"—Morgan sent another one: Willow, after tonight, I’m afraid we’ll never meet again.

Never meet again—good.

Willow’s eyes were dull, her face expressionless.

Soon, Morgan sent a third text: Willow, will you come tonight? I’ll be waiting for you.