The Night He Chose Her, I Chose My Revenge Chapter 09

The Night He Chose Her, I Chose My Revenge Chapter 09

The beam of light pinned me in place like a spear of judgment cast down from heaven.

The next second, the helicopter door was thrown open. A figure descended the rope ladder without hesitation, jumping straight into the waist-deep, bone-chilling seawater.

Water splashed everywhere.

He charged toward me like an enraged bull, breaking through the surging waves.

It was Liam.

My brother.

He reached me and swept me from the collapsing table into his arms. His body was a furnace, but his voice was hoarse and shaking with absolute rage.

“Elara! God, what did they do to you? What the hell did Julian do to you?”

His warm, powerful embrace was like an unbreakable dam, and the wall I had built around myself shattered.

The grief and fear I had stored up for five years broke loose.

“Liam,” I choked out, barely able to speak. “I want to go home…”

“We’re going home.”

Liam held me tighter, wrapping me in a thick wool blanket that shut out the storm and the cold.

“I promise you, Elara. They’re going to pay. A hundred times over.”

Inside the helicopter, it was warm and bright.

The on-board medic quickly tended to my injuries. The cuts from broken wood and glass were horrifying.

Liam’s gaze fell on my battered hands. His eyes reddened, filled with an anger I had never seen before.

“Your hands,” he said hoarsely. “These hands were made for precision model design, Elara. Not for this. What kind of life have you been living these past five years?”

Precision model design.

The words felt like they belonged to another lifetime.

In a daze, I remembered my studio in Austin, sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the air filled with the smell of wood and 3D-printing resin.

Here, all I had smelled was rot and lies.

I had known Julian for ten years and been married to him for five.

In Charleston, I was only the “unrefined” Mrs. Croft from Texas.

I spoke softly, my voice so calm it surprised even me.

“Liam, I want a divorce. Do it the way we agreed.”

Ten years of my life.

Five years of a cruel game.

It was over.

I looked at my bandaged hands and slowly closed my eyes.

At that same moment, a private jet was taking off from Austin.

On board sat a team of top public relations experts, forensic accountants, and former investigative journalists.

Their destination: Charleston, South Carolina.