The Midnight Show That Ended with My Husband’s Affair Chapter 09

The Midnight Show That Ended with My Husband’s Affair Chapter 09 Let Her Rot in Debt

Summer thought Spencer couldn’t bring himself to kill her after all. She scrambled on hands and knees. crawling toward him, trying to wrap her arms around his leg.

“Professor Whitmore… I was wrong… I only did it because I love you so much, because I was jealous of her… I really know I was wrong, please forgive me…”

“Get away from me!”

Spencer kicked her three meters across the floor. He stood over her, his eyes cold as stone.

“Kill you? That would be letting you off too easily.”

He pulled a white handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped each of his fingers, one by one.

The old Spencer-arrogant, untouchable-was back.

“Since you love testing the limits of the law so much, since you love pretending to be mentally ill. I’ll use the method I know best to give you exactly what you want.”

He tossed the used handkerchief onto Summer’s face. His voice was flat, emotionless.

“Flynn!”

“Right here!”

Flynn Dawson stepped in from the hallway, followed by several black-suited bodyguards and two lawyers in crisp suits.

Spencer stared down at Summer on the floor.

“First. I’m filing criminal and civil lawsuits immediately-extortion, public nuisance, defamation.”

“Submit all of her bank records and audio evidence from the past three months to the district attorney’s office. I want every dollar she stole returned with interest. I want her crushed under a mountain of civil damages. Let her rot in debt for the rest of her miserable life.”

Summer’s eyes went wide. She let out a terrified scream.

“No! You can’t do this!”

“Second.”

Spencer continued.

“Submit the complete evidence of her hiring trolls and her moral corruption to the university Initiate expulsion proceedings. I will strip away the degree she fought so hard to earn. Strip away every shred of status and dignity she has in this world.”

“Spencer! You’re insane! You’re trying to kill me!”

Summer wailed in despair, crawling frantically across the floor.

“Kill you?”

Spencer’s lips curled into a cold smile.

“Why would I permit you to die?”

He crouched down slowly, staring directly into Summer’s pupils.

“Third. Haven’t you been forging medical records of severe schizophrenia and panic disorder to avoid responsibility and gain sympathy?”

“Already, in my capacity as your only emergency contact and legal counsel, I’ve signed a compulsory treatment order.”

“Since you’re so sick, since you have a demonstrated tendency toward self-harm and violence, the law requires you to be placed in a maximum-security psychiatric facility for involuntary treatment.”

Summer’s body began convulsing. She finally understood what he was going to do.

“No! I’m not sick! I don’t have a mental illness! I’m not going to a mental hospital!”

She shrieked like a madwoman, scrambling toward the door.

“Too late.”

Spencer stood up. He looked at her as if she were already dead.

“Contact the strictest long-term psychiatric facility abroad. Transfer her there.”

His voice echoed through the room, delivering her life sentence.

“You like pretending to be sick? From now on, you’ll live every day locked up with the truly insane. You’ll take neuroleptic drugs on schedule. You’ll receive maximum-dose electroconvulsive therapy”

“Without my signature, you will never leave that hellhole. You will stay there, locked away, for the rest of your life.”

“Help! I’m not crazy! Professor Whitmore, please, I’m begging you-I’m not sick!”

The bodyguards ignored her struggles. They gagged her with strips of cloth, grabbed her arms and legs. and dragged her out of the room like a dead pig.

The room fell silent again.

Summer Vance had received one of the harshest punishments imaginable.

But.

Spencer stood in the middle of the empty hospital room, surrounded by debris.

Cold wind blew through the window, cutting through his thin shirt. He felt nothing. No pleasure in

revenge.

He had used the law to destroy the culprit.

But having been gutted with that same law with his cold logic, I would never come back.

“Lena…”

His knees buckled. He dropped hard onto the cold floor.

He buried his face in his hands. Tears fell uncontrollably.

From that day on, the untouchable Professor Whitmore of Fairhaven University’s School of Law was dead, remaining a living corpse.