Too Late For Regret, Mr. Morrison

Chapter 4

Word Count: 762 | Released on: Today at 14:28

avoided her eyes, stepping out of her path like she was contagious. But there was a ne

pearl earrings, a few photos, and her medical kit. She left the designer clothes, the

suitcase behind her. She had called a rid

e afternoon sun was too bright, making her he

engine shatte

hing on the loose stones. It skidded to a halt inc

looked deranged. His tie was loose, his

walk away?" he yelled, slamming the car do

f her suitcase. "The paper

ght to Julian Thorne, aren't you? I saw the way he looked

She had barely spoken two words

ight until Farrah is safe," Kian

ate. A swift strike to the radial nerve, followed by a twist of the wrist, woul

emain loose, to look wea

ted. He yanked her arm, trying

bad feeling washing over her. She dodged his pull by sidestep

ng her belongings onto the gravel. A framed photo of her an

photo. In that split second of distr

ed her elbow back into his ribs. She felt a satisfying thud, but not the

gging her towa

ften for the past six months?" Keane's deep voi

avy, oppressive feeling in her head. Her blood fe

ry morning." Keane gripped Carmen's hand even

was surging through Carmen, who wa

o tired, never imagining that the p

knocked out of her. Her vision started t

e low, powerful purr

ded to a stop behind the Bentle

rolled down wi

as sharp, aristocratic, and completely devoid of emotion. His dark eyes surveyed the scene

an T

s gaze lingered on Kian's brutal gri

rprise. It was calculation. An

Chapter End

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Too Late For Regret, Mr. Morrison

Fei Se Billionaires

“I came home exhausted from an eighteen-hour hospital shift, just wanting to rest in the bed my husband of three years rarely shared with me. Instead, I found his mistress sprawled on our bedroom floor in a pool of stage blood, holding a knife and screaming that I had pushed her and killed her baby. My husband, Kian, rushed in. He didn't care that I was still in my wrinkled scrubs, nor did he look at the blatantly fake ultrasound she threw on the floor. "Shut up, you vicious bitch." He shoved me out of the way so hard that my head cracked open against the sharp marble fireplace. As real blood gushed down my face and blinded me, he simply scooped her up and walked out, leaving me bleeding on the floor while the house staff watched in disgust. As I lay there gasping, my medical training cut through the haze. The chronic weakness and dizzy spells I'd suffered for months weren't from overwork. Kian had been slowly poisoning me. I had played the meek, invisible wife for three years, enduring his coldness and his cheating. I didn't understand how the man I married could not only frame me, but actively try to murder me just to clear the way for his secret lover. I dragged myself up, stitched my own torn scalp without a single tear, and pulled out my hidden military-grade laptop. I signed the divorce papers to claim my guaranteed half of his ten-billion-dollar trust fund, and logged back into my old hacker alias. The meek wife was dead.”