My Wife Threw Me into a Pit of Leeches for Her Assistant Chapter 07

My Wife Threw Me into a Pit of Leeches for Her Assistant Chapter 07 I Want To See Him

“Feodora!” Emerson lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. “Are you out of your mind? You were the one who begged me to be with you. You said Chester deserved it. You’re the one who threw him into that leech pit yourself.”

“What?” Feodora blurted out.

“Now you want to dump me?” Emerson let out a laugh, his whole body shaking. “Feodora, it’s too late. You brought this on yourself. Now you pay for it. You think Chester still wants you? You think you can go back begging for forgiveness and he’ll take you back?”

Feodora’s face went pale.

“What did you say when his parents died?” Emerson spat out each word. “You said ‘good. Maybe now Chester will finally learn his lesson. What did you say when his son was turned into soup? You said ‘it’s just a corpse. If Emerson wants to make soup out of it, let him. Now you’re having regrets?”

“I said shut up.”

“Chester gave up on you a long time ago!” Emerson yelled. “He’s given up on you. He’s coming back for revenge. He wants you dead, me dead, and the entire Wilde family dragged down with

us.”

Feodora froze. Her grip on him slowly loosened.

At the end of the alley, the footsteps grew louder.

A flashlight beam swept across her ghost-white face.

“Feodora,” Emerson said, backing up against the wall, his voice suddenly flat. “None of us are getting out of this.”

She opened her mouth, trying to find something to say, but nothing came out.

All she could see was my face-me cooking dinner for her, me grinning like an idiot while holding our baby.

She really did regret it.

The flashlight hit her square in the eyes, blinding her.

“Feodora?” a man’s voice called out. “We’re here on Mr. Brooks’s orders.”

They wrenched her arms behind her back and forced her face-first onto the cold ground.

Emerson was right next to her, pinned down the same way, his face buried in a pile of garbage. He didn’t make a sound.

A bitter laugh almost escaped her.

Eight years.

In eight years, she’d turned a man who once loved her like crazy into an enemy who wanted her dead.

“Wait.” Her voice came out hoarse. “Is Chester… is he okay?”

The man holding her didn’t answer.

“I want to see him,” she said. “Let me see him just once. I’ll only say one thing.”

“What do you want to say?”

“I want to tell him I’m sorry.”

The man fell silent for a few seconds, then gave a cold laugh. “Ms. Wilde, you really think ‘I’m sorry’ is worth anything now?”