My Husband’s Other Self Loved Me Chapter 03

My Husband’s Other Self Loved Me Chapter 03

“Everyone who hurt you deserves to pay.”

Eighteen-year-old Malachi held me tightly, his voice low and intense.

“I’ll make them pay for everything they’ve done to you.”

When I woke again, I was in the hospital.

Thick gauze was wrapped around my wrist.

The door to my room was shoved open.

Malachi strode in, his face a cold mask, a barely contained fire in his eyes.

He grabbed my arm and roared, “Greer, I’ve given you everything. What more could you possibly want?”

“Why did you go after Sloane?”

Before I could react, he shoved his phone in my face.

On the screen was the latest entertainment headline.

“Exclusive! Campbell Real Estate Heiress’s Chaotic Private Life Exposed, Entangled with Multiple Partners, Intimate Photos Leaked!”

Below were several obscene photos of Sloane.

I froze, then instinctively denied it.

“It wasn’t me…”

But Malachi shoved me away.

My wrist scraped against the wall, and the fresh wound split open.

Pain stole my breath. The next second, his palm cracked across my face.

“Without the Holloway family’s resources, how could the tabloids possibly get their hands on something like this?”

He stared at my reddening cheek, his fingers trembling, but his voice was cold.

“I gave you a life you never would have touched otherwise. I took you to charity galas. I taught you how to navigate that world.”

“And all you learned were these filthy tricks?”

“You know how fragile Sloane is. Are you trying to drive her to suicide?”

His words left me hollow.

The wound on my wrist, freshly stitched, was torn open again.

Blood dripped onto the white hospital sheets.

Malachi froze, too.

But in the next second, a look of pure disgust crossed his face.

He reached out and ripped off the bandage, tearing away the skin stuck to it, then tossed it to the floor.

“Is this the only trick you know? Playing the victim to get sympathy?”

“I’m telling you, after all these years, I’m sick of it.”

He bent down and stared into my unfocused eyes, his voice like ice.

“Greer, if you really want to die, then go die somewhere far away.”

“Just stop showing up in front of me.”

With that, he stepped back.

The reporters outside, as if on cue, rushed in with cameras and microphones.

Before I could process what was happening, questions were being hurled at me.

“Mr. Holloway told us you fabricated your own sex video and framed Ms. Campbell…”

“You tried to ruin a young woman’s career and life out of jealousy. Have you no shame?”

“Ms. Sinclair, you made a mistake, but instead of taking responsibility, you faked a suicide attempt to hide from it.”

“How could you do something so vile?”

My mind buzzed.

I had just opened my mouth when a microphone smelling of stale coffee was shoved against my lips.

“Ms. Sinclair, are you silent because we hit a nerve?”

“We heard you grew up in foster care and were abused by your foster father.”

“Did that experience turn you into the person you are today?”

I had never truly moved past that trauma.

Now it was being ripped open for the world to see.

The only person who knew was Malachi.

The man who had once held me and promised me it was all over had now handed my deepest wound to the press as a weapon to destroy me.

I could barely breathe.

But the reporters gave me no quarter.

They started a livestream.

They dug up my foster care records and old photos, displaying them for the world to see.

The livestream was instantly flooded with abuse.

“You can tell just by looking at her that she’s bad news!”

“Playing the victim while destroying other people. Disgusting.”

“She was a manipulative child, and now she’s trying to drag the public into her sick games. No wonder her own parents didn’t want her!”

Just then, Sloane joined the livestream.

Her eyes were red. She bit her lip and stared at me.

“Ms. Sinclair, ever since I met Malachi, you’ve been making my life hell—sabotaging me, trying to get me blacklisted.”

“I let it all slide because of Malachi.”

“But not this time. You have to apologize to me.”

The number of viewers surged into the millions.

The comments filled with a single word.

Apologize.

Malachi tucked a strand of sweat-soaked hair behind my ear, a chillingly tender gesture.

“If you do something wrong, you have to pay the price.”

He leaned close to my ear, his voice a soft, menacing whisper.

“Don’t push this to the point of no return.”

I stared into his eyes, searching for any trace of the man I once knew.

But he only pressed down on my shoulder, forcing me to face the camera.