Too Late For Regret, Mr. Morrison

Chapter 5

Word Count: 682 | Released on: Today at 14:28

her

as calm, unhurried, but it carrie

s head, his eyes widening when he recognized the face in the wi

d smoothly. He gave a slight no

ciency of trained killers. Before Kian could react, one of them grabbed his wrist, twisting it sha

struggling against the bodyguard's grip

e gravel, ignoring Kian entirely. He looked down at

ther. He slipped it into the pocket of his suit jacket. Then,

und," Julian ordered

ld Carmen that Kian had be

SUV. He climbed in beside her and shut the door. The

ulian told

the cabin, the air was cool and smell

g, but she could see the man sitting next to her.

e," she slurred, her

n the neighborhood," Julian rep

cked in. The weakness, the dizziness, the blurred vis

ning me. Something slow-acting. Chronic. I need a full to

nge of destination. NewYork-Presbyterian, VIP wing. And get Dr. Evans on the line. Tell him to

know your way around a medical emergency," he said quietly. It w

nserving her strength. The fog in her brain was thick, and a cold dread was

te today on a hunch, a calculated business move to probe a rival's weakness aft

remarkable wife to diagnose her own chronic poisoning and pres

e studied her with an intensity that made

ls, Mrs. Morrison," he said, his tone conversational but his eyes

parts. She couldn't talk her way out of this. The evidence

as cold and hard as his.

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.”