My Terminal Diagnosis, His Cruel Divorce

windows of the penthouse suite. Gerard sat up, pressing the heels of his h

trips of black velvet on the floor. The fragmented memories of the night before rushed into his min

assive suite. It was empty. The only thing left behi

htstand and dialed a secure number. "Cecil. Get a security t

the sink, the shower, the trash can. Nothing. The woman had

aiting for him to wake up. She would have taken pictures. This woman ran away and erased her t

ed with three men. They began a sweep of

ried to remember. The drug had blinded him, but his hands remembered. He reme

tter

e security footage from the lobby, the garage, a

coat and kept her head down the entire time. She perfectly navigated the blind spots of the high-definition cameras in the hallways, moving with the precision of a ghost. By t

impact. "I do not care what it takes! Find the woman with the butterf

r closet. She pulled a thick, high-necked wool sweater over her head,

, ruthless energy radiating from him filled the apartment instantly.

down on the sofa and picked up a bu

looked down. His eyes locked onto the high collar of he

im with cold eyes. "Where were you all night? D

tead, he reached into his briefcase and pulled ou

are waiting downstairs. We

ds on her body just a few hours ago clashed violently with the co

ste blood. She reached out and picked up the Mont

ion hit him. He did not want her to sign it so easily. His hand tw

h the paper, a deafening

y, rhythmic thumping sound filled the air. Gerard an

sby family, was slowly descending onto the wide outdoor landing

ale. It was his grandfather's p

b the divorce papers off the

stepped inside first. His sharp eyes immediately l

was straight and intimidating. He slammed his black-and-gold cane against the ma

ce shaking the walls. "Do you think you can divor

or, spilling dark ink across the white