My Husband Married Me for Revenge, I Ruined His Plan Chapter 04

My Husband Married Me for Revenge, I Ruined His Plan Chapter 04

The morning after I called Zachary Dawson, Winston sat across from me at the breakfast table, leisurely peeling a hard-boiled egg.

“I heard that clinic of Zachary’s is in trouble. Funding’s dried up, supplies have stopped coming in.”

He said it casually, like he was discussing the weather. “A real shame, don’t you think?”

My hand froze halfway to my plate.

Slowly, I set my own egg back down.

The egg in his hand was peeled perfectly clean, the smooth white surface marked by a faint crescent where his fingernail had pressed in.

Ignoring the dull ache building in my lower abdomen, I lifted my head.

“Winston, I want a divorce.”

He didn’t react.

So I repeated the word. “A divorce. Today.”

Winston peeled a second egg and placed it neatly onto my plate.

He finally look at me—no anger, no surprise, just that familiar gentleness.

“Laurel, you’ve been under too much stress lately.” His voice was patient.

“Why don’t we take a trip back to your hometown?”

“I’ve already booked a cabin in Willow Ridge Valley. It’s quiet there.”

He smiled. “Get a couple days of rest. When you wake up, all this divorce talk will be behind us.”

He paused. “I’ll hold on to your documents for now. My assistant’s already booked the flights.”

For the clinic. For my IDs. And because I was homesick in a way I couldn’t admit even to myself—I gave in.

By the time our car entered Willow Ridge Valley, night had already fallen.

Heavy snow blanketed the mountains.

The road narrowed as it climbed, visibility dropping to under ten feet.

The navigation lost signal, the screen flashing: [Route Unavailable.]

Then, halfway up the mountain, the engine died.

For perhaps the first time since I’d known him, Winston muttered a curse.

He climbed out to inspect the engine.

“The car’s dead,” he said, snow collecting on his shoulders.

“I’ll head to the village up ahead for help. Stay in the car, keep the heater running—it’s safer.”

A pair of headlights appeared in the distance.

The vehicle approached and slowed beside us.

The window rolled down. Bianca sat behind the wheel.

“Winston.” Her voice sounded relieved. “I got separated from the film crew.”

“The GPS glitched and sent me out here. Then my signal died. My phone died too.”

Her SUV was parked less than thirty feet from ours.

The coincidence was almost laughable.

A faint frown crossed Winston’s face. Then he turned to me. “Laurel.”

“Bianca’s alone in the mountains. It’s dangerous.”

“I’ll take her vehicle into the village and call for rescue while I’m there.”

He looked directly at me. “Stay in the car. Keep the heater on.”

“Whatever you do, don’t come outside.”

Then they left.

I watched the twin beams of their headlights disappear into the blizzard.

The snow grew heavier. The wind drove sheets of ice against the vehicle.

Gradually, snow buried the exhaust pipe. Ice sealed the gaps around the doors.

The first symptom was dizziness. Then came the tightness in my chest.

I tried opening the door. It wouldn’t move.

The accumulated snow and frozen ice outside had locked it shut.

I pounded against the window. The glass felt rigid and frozen solid.

I hit the horn. The battery, weakened by the temperature, emitted only a dull, feeble sound.

My thoughts began to blur.

The air inside the car grew thinner by the minute.

The ache in my abdomen sharpened into agonizing pain.

Then, lights appeared outside—flashlights cutting through the dark.

Dark figures surrounded the car. Some gripped crowbars, others shovels.

“That’s the black SUV!” a man shouted. “Word online is it belongs to poachers!”

“Smash it!”

“Drag them out!”

“Kill them!”

The crowd surged closer.

Metal struck the body of the vehicle with violent clangs.

Angry faces pressed against the windows.

In desperation, I reached for the pendant around my neck. The hand-carved cedar bead Cade had made for me.

The chain snapped.

I clenched the wooden bead tightly in my palm and pressed my hand against the frost-covered glass.

Outside, a man raised a metal rod.

Its target was the window directly in front of me.

At that exact moment, a flashlight beam swept across my hand.

The warmth from my skin had melted a small patch of frost.

The bead became visible. So did my face.

Silence. The shouting stopped instantly.

An old man clutching a flashlight started shaking. The rod clattered to the ground.

His knees buckled, and he sank into the snow.

“Laurel?” His voice shook. “It’s Laurel! Dr. Croft’s daughter!”

Dr. Croft. My father.

Twenty years ago, he had died during disaster relief efforts in Willow Ridge Valley.

He had given every penny of his savings to three remote villages. This village was one of them.

The crowd surged into action. Someone pried open the frozen door.

The moment it gave way, I collapsed forward.

A rush of warm blood spilled down my legs.

The last thing I saw was two figures running toward me through the snow.

Winston’s face was ashen.

“Laurel! Stay awake!” His voice cracked.

Beside him was another man in a ranch coat dusted with snow.

His eyes were red. A raw, desperate sound tore from his throat.

“Laurel. Please. Open your eyes.”

Three years. Three years since I’d heard that name spoken like that—the way only one person ever had.

The snow continued to fall.

And slowly, I blacked out.