Semua Bab The CEO'S Dead Wife: A Marriage Made In Hell!: Bab 71 - Bab 80

RICHARDSON'S POVThe moment Georgina’s thumb pressed down, I moved.There was no time to think, only my instinct, honed by years of violence and near-misses, screaming that standing still meant death. I lunged forward, reaching for her arm, for the detonator, for anything that might stop what she’d just set in motion.The explosion hit before I could take another step.It wasn’t the kind of blast that tore everything apart in fire and shrapnel. It was controlled, and so precise, calculated to destroy without completely collapsing the structure. That made it worse. The shockwave slammed into my chest like a freight train, lifting me off my feet and hurling me backward.The world turned white. Then red. Then nothing.When I came back to myself, the first thing I felt was pain that was so unbearable. My ears rang violently, sound muffled and distorted like I was underwater. Dust choked the air, burning my lungs as I sucked in a breath and coughed hard.“Abigail,” I rasped.I pushed mysel

ABIGAIL'S POVI didn’t trust Lucas or the way his eyes kept darting to the sides like he was waiting for someone to appear and end the conversation for him. Every instinct I had sharpened through betrayal, survival, and blood screamed that standing in that parking garage with him was a mistake.Yet I stayed.Because sometimes the most dangerous truths came wrapped in familiar faces.“Say it again,” I told him quietly. “Slowly.”Lucas swallowed. The fluorescent light above us flickered, washing his face in sickly yellow. He looked thinner than I remembered. Older. Guilt had a way of carving itself into people.“Sophia,” he said. “She was seen. After her death.”The words didn’t land at first. They floated, absurd and weightless, like something said in a dream.I laughed.It came out sharp and wrong. “That’s not funny.”“I’m not joking.”“She’s dead,” I snapped. “I watched her coffin go into the ground. I stood there. I mourned her.”“You were meant to,” he said softly.Something in his

RICHARDSON'S POVI had learned, over the years, that desperation is your worse enemy.Abigail was proof of that.“I’m going alone,” she said, already reaching for her jacket, her voice steady in that dangerous way that meant she’d made up her mind.I turned on her so fast the chair scraped loudly against the floor. “You are out of your damn mind.”She stiffened. “Richardson, you have to fucking listen to me, I can't go there with someone else and ruin this.”“No,” I snapped. “This is not the time to be brave or stubborn or whatever noble suicide mission you’re planning in that head of yours.”Her eyes flashed. “This is my life! What don't you get? Leave me alone and let me fix it.”“Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you but that's never going to happen,” I shot back. “And that’s exactly why you’re not going.”She folded her arms, jaw tight. “You can't say that to me.”“I do when it comes to keeping you alive,” I said harshly. “You’re pregnant, Abigail. You’re already being hunted. This is

ABIGAIL'S POVThe name hit me harder than any shock ever could.Malia.It detonated in my head, violent and blinding, ripping through every fragile sense of calm I had been clinging to.I staggered back a step, my hand flying to the edge of the table to steady myself. My stomach rolled, a deep, nauseating churn that had nothing to do with pregnancy, but the memories they kept coming back to me. too many memories, rearranging themselves all at once into something monstrous.“No,” I whispered. “No, that’s not possible.”Richardson was still holding the torn diary page, his eyes fixed on the name as if it might rearrange itself into something less damning if he stared long enough. “You recognize it,” he said slowly. It wasn’t a question.“Malia Greene,” I breathed. My throat tightened. “Altthough that name was just a coverage for the real thing.”He looked up sharply. “What do you mean by that.”I swallowed, the taste of bile sharp on my tongue. “Her real name was Sydney Black. Years ago

ABIGAIL'S POVI sat at the kitchen table long after midnight, the thin plastic band resting between my fingers like a quiet accusation. I traced my mother’s name again and again until the letters blurred. Every memory I had of her death replayed in fragments, I could still see the hospital smells, white sheets, the weight of grief that had crushed my lungs until breathing felt optional.If this bracelet was real, and every instinct told me it was, then someone had lied to me at the most vulnerable moment of my life, which was wired because my uncle was very much alive and aware of everything! He couldn't tell me he was deceived too because he gave his word that he watched them buried her.I knew he has always been a cocky bastard, but the fact that he would gamble with my mother's corpse was something I couldn't easily believe. What was even the point of not burying her? I still couldn't understand it. Richardson didn’t try to talk me out of spiraling. He moved the way he always did