The Night He Chose Her, I Chose My Revenge Chapter 15

The Night He Chose Her, I Chose My Revenge Chapter 15

Outside the window, Charleston was having a rare sunny day, but for the first time, my heart felt settled.

When this was all over, I would never again set foot in this damp, hypocritical city that chilled me to the bone.

Over the next few days, Julian appeared downstairs at the hospital every day.

He was on crutches, his body still wrapped in bandages. From a hundred feet away, he would stand and stare stubbornly up at my hospital room window.

He never lasted more than a few minutes before the security guards Liam had hired politely “escorted” him away.

I felt nothing for him.

A few days later, the doctor came into my room with the final report.

“Miss Vance, I’m very sorry.” He pointed to the MRI of my hand, his tone heavy. “The nerves in your wrist sustained permanent damage from the blunt force trauma and prolonged immersion in cold water. I’m afraid you won’t be able to do the kind of high-precision model design work you used to.”

My heart sank like a stone.

I could never be a designer again.

When Liam heard the news, he punched the wall. The dull thud echoed through the room. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice a low growl.

“I’m going to bankrupt them.”

That evening, Liam sat by my bed with a bowl of tomato bisque flown in from Austin.

“Elara, the bastard is refusing to sign the divorce papers,” he said, stirring the soup, his tone icy. “He wants the media to paint this as an ‘ordinary marital spat.’ It’s pathetic.”

I calmly took the bowl and took a sip.

“It doesn’t matter if he won’t sign,” I said. “There’s more than one way to get a divorce.”

Late that night, I was awakened by an urgent whisper.

“Elara. Elara.”

Julian had slipped into my hospital room during a security shift change.

My eyes snapped open. He was sitting beside my bed, gripping both of my hands tightly.

Including my injured one.

“Elara, forgive me, please?” He spoke quickly, his face filled with a panic that was utterly foreign on the elegant, composed man I remembered.

“I just… I only wanted you to learn to respect tradition. I thought you’d come back on your own. I sent people to look for you. I really did.”

His grip tightened, like a drowning man clutching at driftwood.

“I’ve already sent Penelope away. I don’t care about those damned traditions anymore. I’ll stay with you. We’ll go back to Texas, alright?”