The Arms Dealer Gave My Only Antidote To Her Chapter 02

The Arms Dealer Gave My Only Antidote To Her Chapter 02

A pause. Then a cold laugh. 　　“Sloane. Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”

His voice was icy.

“You think I’ll fall for the suicide threat?”

The line went dead.

I slumped against the couch, gasping. Pain ripped through my insides. I whispered.

“Fine. Have it your way. I won’t bleed on your floor.”

I pushed off the coffee table and dragged myself toward the stairs. Every step brought more blood foam to my throat. Dark red smears stained the floor.

System alert: Host has abandoned survival instinct. Death-fake protocol accelerating.

I sat at the bedroom vanity and stared at the ghost in the mirror.

Declan used to say I was built tough. He forgot this body was ruined years ago, when I knelt all night in jungle mud to save him.

That night, his enemies cornered him. Three bullets. I carried him on my back through waist-deep muck for two and a half miles.

His face covered in blood, he whispered against my ear.

“Slo… just wait till I’m on my feet. I’ll take you to see the blue water in Maldives. We’ll get married. Have a daughter who looks like you. I owe you a life.”

The Declan of today doesn’t remember that jungle storm. He only remembers Tessa—that face like his dead sister.

He poured every ounce of guilt into her. She frowns, he airlifts a private jet. And me? I became his “healthy, bitter, jealous wife.”

My phone lit up. Tessa’s story.

A photo: a sharp man’s hand peeling fresh strawberries for her.

Caption: [Some people treat you like the only one in the world. Even a tiny cold breaks his heart.]

Location: The Sterling Medevac Jet.

I turned off the phone. Started cleaning.

I tore the wedding photos off the wall. Slashed them apart with a tactical knife. The pieces fell into the trash—just scraps of paper.

From the safe, everything he ever gave me: a pigeon blood ruby necklace, a deep sea blue diamond ring. They sparkled under the light like a joke.

He always thought money could buy everything. Including my pride. Including my life.

Footsteps on the stairs. I was surprised. Declan had come back.

He pushed open the bedroom door. His clothes smelled of disinfectant and gunpowder.

He saw the mess on the floor and his face went black.

“What the hell are you doing?”

His voice was cold. He grabbed my wrist, yanked the knife away, tossed it aside. The strength of an arms king.

“I remember you cried to take those photos.”

He looked down, sarcastic.

“Now you’re putting on a tragedy for who?”

I looked up. My voice was light as wind.

“Declan. Let’s get a divorce.”