My Husband Is a Gary Stu

Chapter 172 You Are Inhuman

It was past three o’clock in the afternoon when Genevieve finally woke up.

Without much memory of what had happened during the wee hours of the morning, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stumbled out of bed. However, as soon as her feet touched the carpet, the soreness between her legs almost caused her to topple over.

She barely held onto the bed for support, but thankfully, that was enough to keep herself from falling.

The next second, Genevieve grabbed her phone from the bedside table and texted the man who had long since left the bedroom: Armand Faulkner, you’re inhuman!

Shortly after she sent her message, the door suddenly opened.

Even though Armand seemed cold and aloof as he walked in wearing a buttoned-up white shirt and black pants, there was no doubt that his face wore a look of contentment.

Upon seeing a grim-faced Genevieve leaning against the bed, Armand smiled. Without further ado, he lifted her wordlessly in his arms and carried her into the bathroom.

Genevieve, on the other hand, angrily typed out another message: You’re inhuman! You’re a sc*mbag! You’re an animal!”

the one who flirted with

intended to place Genevieve on the marble countertop, but when he recalled how she had flinched at the cold marble

you once! Couldn’t you have pushed

meat dangling in front of it?” Armand asked with a chuckle. After squeezing toothpaste out onto a toothbrush and sticking it

the toothbrush, Genevieve lifted

went on to brush her teeth and wash her face under the watchful eye of Armand. Once that was all done, he carried her back out and onto

too, had been padded

with the hotel restaurant’s menu, Genevieve had just applied face toner, but her expression remained cold and gloomy

flight tickets,” Armand remarked. While putting the menu on the dressing table, he inadvertently caught a glimpse of the hickeys dotting Genevieve’s

tender. I didn’t even use that much force, yet the

reason, Armand felt his heart soften. He stroked her earlobe and said in a low voice, “Once you’re feeling better, we’ll take

typing: Who cares about taking your private plane? I’ll have you

not bring herself to elaborate and decided

Didn’t people say men can’t perform as well once they’re in their thirties? She suddenly stopped typing as memories of the terrifying experience came flooding back. Before long, she was back on her phone again: Did

text