I’ll Marry His Rival and Burn His Empire to Ash Chapter 09

I’ll Marry His Rival and Burn His Empire to Ash Chapter 09

The people around them hurried to smooth things over.

“Jackson, it’s Savannah-Claire’s birthday. Don’t let some nobody ruin the mood.”

“Exactly. Limping? That sounds like a wild exaggeration.”

“If she were really hurt that badly—permanent nerve damage—how could there not be a single whisper in Charleston?”

“I think they just came here to mess with you.”

As everyone spoke over one another, Savannah-Claire didn’t dare say a word. She knew that the more she said now, the more she’d reveal.

Jackson sat back down, but he didn’t touch his whiskey again. He just stared in the direction his assistant had gone, waiting.

He took out his phone and, as if possessed, opened his chat history with Ava.

The last message was from half a month ago. He had asked where she was. She hadn’t replied.

Claire’s words echoed in his mind like a curse.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of denial. If something that serious had happened to Chloe, Ava would have come after him. With her temper, she would have smashed his office, destroyed his favorite car—she wouldn’t have just gone silent.

But why did looking at this empty chat log make his head spin?

He placed his finger on the keyboard and typed a few words.

[Is Chloe all right?]

He stared at it for two seconds, then deleted it.

It made him sound guilty.

He typed again.

[I need to see you.]

Still wrong. Too weak.

He was about to revise it again when Savannah-Claire brought over a piece of cake.

“Jack, don’t think about it… Have some cake, okay?”

“I’m not hungry.” Jackson pushed her hand away, stood up, and pulled a black card from his wallet, tossing it on the table.

“I have to handle something. You all keep celebrating. I’ll have the driver take you home later.”

“Jack!” Savannah-Claire tried to grab him.

But he strode toward the door without looking back. All he wanted was to get back to the estate, see Ava with his own eyes, and demand she tell him the truth.

As he walked, he sent Ava an iMessage: [Wait for me at the estate.]

The instant the message sent, the blue bubble turned green.

He had been blocked.

Jackson stopped dead in his tracks. A chill shot up his spine. He immediately dialed her number, but all he got was the cold, automated message that the call could not be completed.

Just then, a suppressed gasp came from the private room.

“My God… look! It’s Ava Monroe!”

“What is this? An exclusive from the Charleston Chronicle?”

A friend held up a phone and looked at him in shock. “Jackson, when did you get divorced?”

Jackson spun around, rushed back into the room, and snatched the phone.

On the screen was the Instagram page of the city’s most prestigious society columnist. In a high-definition photo, Ava wore a crisply tailored white dress, sitting in the conference room of a top law firm, smiling as she signed a document.

Sitting beside her was the ambitious new-money tycoon, Ethan Blackwood.

The caption was sharp and direct: “Exclusive: The Monroe-Blackwood Alliance! Charleston’s newest power couple is born. According to insider sources, Miss Ava Monroe officially returned to single status this morning.”

The clock in the photo’s background clearly showed three o’clock in the afternoon.

It was nine o’clock at night.

He had been divorced for six hours.

With a crash, he smashed the phone against the wall, where it shattered.

Seeing his rage, Savannah-Claire wasn’t frightened. A sick thrill shot through her. She thought this was it—the final obstacle being cleared for her.

She stepped forward and asked softly, her voice trembling with anticipation, “Jack… when did you… handle it?”

Jackson whipped his head around. The eyes that had once held a spark of fascination for her were now a storm of destruction and bloodshot humiliation.

Through gritted teeth, he forced out each word.

“I’d like to know that, too.”