She Vowed to Kill Him for Me, Then Helped Him Propose to Another Woman Chapter 09

She Vowed to Kill Him for Me, Then Helped Him Propose to Another Woman Chapter 09

Vivienne wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth and laughed bitterly.

“Cheating is cheating. Do you think you’re some kind of good man?”

“You’re just like me. We’re both rotten.”

“And you, Sloane.”

“I fed you a few sob stories, and you betrayed Claire that easily. Are you stupid?”

“Hahaha. You two are trash. Both of you. Filthy, heartless trash.”

Grant did not argue.

He simply made a phone call.

Soon, the hospital room was packed with the same hired thugs he had used before.

Grant lifted his chin toward Vivienne on the floor.

“Take her away.”

“Whatever you did to Claire that day, do the same to her.”

“No. Do whatever you want. Just keep her alive.”

Vivienne heard him and desperately grabbed at his pant leg.

“No… Grant, don’t do this to me.”

“Sloane, help me. Don’t let them take me.”

No one cared about her crying.

She watched the men walk toward her and closed her eyes in despair.

Grant quickly issued a public statement, cutting all ties with Vivienne, claiming that his wife had been persecuted by her, and that he had also been one of her victims.

He spent millions hiring private investigators and underground contacts to search for Claire.

Every day without her, he was drowned in regret.

Only after his love was gone did he understand how deeply he had loved her.

My parents and I settled in a seaside town near Seabrook Cove.

The view was beautiful, and the air was clean.

When the salty sea breeze blew against my face, life did not seem quite so unbearable anymore.

But the nightmares haunted me every night.

I’d trace the new scars on my wrists, remembering how Grant had smiled like a demon while his thugs beat and humiliated me, how Sloane had watched with cold contempt, and how Vivienne, venomous as a snake, had choked the life out of me.

Most of all, I heard the cries of my unborn daughter, asking why I hadn’t saved her.

Every twisted nightmare left me drenched in sweat until the agony became too much to bear, and I turned a blade against my own skin.

Just when it felt like I was about to be set free, my parents woke me.

They rushed me to the hospital.

Their tears fell onto my wrists, burning hot against my skin.

After that, every knife in the house was locked away.

My father got up early every morning to walk with me.

My mother cooked for me in every way she could think of.

They should have been enjoying retirement in peace.

Instead, they spent every day worrying themselves sick over me.

I looked at the new strands of white in their hair.

Something inside me surged, then slowly settled.

So I stopped trying to die.

I stopped hurting the people who loved me because of people who did not matter.

I began playing chess with my father and arranging flowers with my mother.

I learned, little by little, to love life again.

I learned to find the Claire I used to be.

My parents and I opened a pottery studio together.

Every time I shaped wet clay between my hands, my heart found a rare kind of peace.

But that peace was shattered completely when Grant arrived.

When he found the studio, I was helping a little girl shape clay.

The moment I looked up and saw him, the piece in my hands collapsed.

The little girl’s disappointed voice snapped me back to myself.

I gave her a finished vase to comfort her.

Children’s moods changed quickly, and she left happily with the vase in her arms.

Grant did not move.

He just stood there, staring at me.

After a long time, he finally spoke, his voice cracking: “If our child had survived, she might have been this big.”

Memories flooded me like a rising tide.

Pain, disappointment, and hatred wrapped around me until I felt trapped inside a cocoon.

I clutched my chest as a panic attack seized me, choking the air right out of my lungs.