Forgotten Love: Mr. President, Mrs. Fordham Has Rejected You! Chapter 67: He Broke His Promise Again

Corinne Kensington struggled to get up, desperate to flee.

But it was already too late.

He ripped off his tie, tying her firmly to the bed so she couldn’t move at all.

The terrifying scene crashed into her mind, making her scalp tingle. She scread hysterically, "Let go, you lunatic! If you dare hurt , Aiden Fordham won’t let you off!"

He tore open two buttons on his shirt, revealing a solid chest.

But right now, all Corinne felt from that body was endless terror.

He lowered his head, his eyes devoid of any warmth, scrutinizing her as if she were a toy.

His hands began to rip at her clothes, the harsh sound of tearing fabric piercing through the silence.

"No... let go, please, I beg you, let go."

Despair, cold as a tidal wave, swallowed her whole.

Bruno Duvall grinned maliciously, yanked off his pants, and prepared to lunge at her.

Suddenly, "Bang!"—a loud noise, the door was kicked open, and a cold and noble face appeared...

In the manor

On the slope beside the riverside embanknt, starlight glittered. The shuttle car rolled to a steady stop.

The sight before Stella Grant filled her with delight. The entire hillside had been ticulously decorated, enchanting like a fairy-tale scene.

Countless strings of colorful little lights twined around trees and shrubs, like stars fallen to earth.

In the middle of the clearing, a beautiful white camping tent had been set up.

All around blood vibrant bouquets of fresh flowers, their gentle fragrance drifting in the air.

Thoughtfully, a small portable shower room had even been set up nearby.

A square table covered with a white cloth sat in the center of the clearing, flickering candles atop it, along with elegant wine glasses and a bottle of red wine.

Looking up, she saw a deep night sky, a crescent moon hanging at the edge, with stars scattered all around.

Such a stunningly romantic starlit dinner—tsk, tsk, tsk!

This Aiden Fordham must have had a change of heart. What’s all this for? Is he trying to get Corinne Kensington to officially beco his fiancé sooner?

Little did she know, this was all Keegan Lindsey’s crafty idea.

At that mont, Keegan Lindsey’s phone rang. He answered, spoke a few words.

After hanging up, he told Stella Grant, "Madam, President Fordham’s car will arrive at the manor soon."

"Please wait here for a mont. I’ll go instruct the kitchen to bring over the dinner."

With that, Keegan Lindsey hurried away.

Stella Grant walked to a comfortable lounge chair and sat down.

She tilted her head up to gaze at the star-filled sky, relaxed music drifting in her ears. All the fatigue of the day lted away, leaving her unusually calm and content.

Elsewhere, a golden Rolls-Royce cruised serenely down the road back to the manor.

In the back seat, Aiden Fordham played with an exquisite pink velvet jewelry box, his long fingers tracing over it.

He gently opened the lid.

Inside lay a necklace custom-made for Stella Grant.

The platinum chain was slender and elegant; the pendant, made of three differently sized, irregularly shaped stars, clustered together tightly.

Each star was studded with tiny pink diamonds. In the dim car light, it shimred softly, minimalist but unmistakably stylish—strikingly beautiful.

Aiden Fordham gazed at the necklace, his eyes softening.

He rembered, once, Stella Grant had absentmindedly flipped through a fashion magazine and paused over a Lily Flower Necklace inlaid with Red Agate, visibly enchanted.

He’d kept that in mind, imdiately contacting the brand to order it.

But, after the necklace was finished, before he could give it to her, Corinne Kensington happened to see it, and through coyness and pestering snatched it for herself as a birthday present.

Aiden Fordham hadn’t said anything at the ti, but he never stopped thinking about it.

He sought out the designer again, personally involved in designing and ordering this one-of-a-kind pink diamond star necklace.

The necklace had only just arrived in his hands today.

He wanted to surprise her.

Just then, his private phone suddenly rang, shrill and urgent.

Aiden Fordham frowned and picked up. Instantly, he heard Corinne Kensington’s tearful, panic-stricken voice on the other end.

"Aiden! Help ! I’ve been kidnapped!"

"Aiden, I’m at Dock No. 1! Wuwuwu... I’m so scared... Ah!"

After a short, sharp scream, it seed the phone was snatched away.

Next, a strange man’s voice ca, harsh, thick with threat.

"President Fordham? If you don’t want your woman to get hurt, co to Dock No. 1 now, this instant!"

"Otherwise, be ready to collect her corpse!"

Aiden Fordham’s grip on his phone tightened, his handso face instantly masked in frost.

He was silent for two seconds; those two seconds, the air in the car seed to freeze solid.

Then, in a voice cold and completely devoid of emotion, he told the driver simply,

"Go to Dock No. 1."

He hung up, no hesitation, imdiately dialed Quentin Lockwood.

When the call connected, he said, briefly and to the point:

"Corinne Kensington has been kidnapped at Dock No. 1. Send n over imdiately."

...

About thirty minutes later, dinner arrived.

Each dish was covered by a delicate stainless steel lid, keeping it warm and mysterious.

The chef arranged the plates and bowed slightly.

"Madam, please enjoy your al. Hope you have a pleasant dinner."

With that, he quietly withdrew.

Stella Grant was truly hungry, her stomach painfully empty. Yet, faced with the spread and the empty seat opposite, she simply couldn’t eat comfortably all by herself.

She sat back on the lounge chair, waiting patiently. The feeling of waiting was torturous; those two years, she had squatted at the village entrance, staring and waiting for him, but he never ca...

The night breeze was chilly, gently brushing her cheeks and arms.

As she waited, her eyelids grew heavy; leaning back, she drifted off to sleep.

She didn’t know how long had passed when a sharp cramp in her lower abdon pulled her roughly from shallow sleep.

The sky was darker, the moon hidden behind the clouds. Only the faint, scattered chirping of unseen insects and distant background music lingered around her.

She pressed her abdon, feeling a worriso warmth gushing forth.

Her face changed. Struggling, she staggered toward the shower room.

When she finally erged, clinging to the wall, her footsteps unsteady, the clearing was still empty—just her.

Aiden Fordham was nowhere to be seen—not a trace.

"Aiden Fordham?" She called tentatively, twice.

Only empty silence and the wind answered.

The pain grew more intense. She curled up on the chair, cold sweat soaking her fringe.

Suddenly, the faint background music cut off too.

When the music stops, it usually ans it’s ti for the manor’s nightly routine—bedti.

At least, it was already past eleven.

The surroundings suddenly fell eerily quiet, only the insects’ chorus amplified in the darkness, setting her nerves on edge.

She had no phone on her; in this vast manor, she felt stranded—unable to find a single person to help.

Her heart raced with worry.

Blood began to flow even heavier, and there was nothing here she could use in an ergency.

All she could do was keep her pale face, shuttling back and forth to deal with it in the bathroom over and over.

Eventually, the pain beca unbearable. She huddled on the icy chair, her vision going black.

Tears welled up, helplessness and fear clutching her tight.

anwhile, on an island closest to ritopia, Aiden Fordham had barged into the lair alone; seven or eight burly n in black surrounded him.

Corinne Kensington’s mouth was taped, her hands tied and suspended two ters above the ground; her arms and legs were streaked with blood—clearly, she’d been beaten.

The mont she saw Aiden, she struggled fiercely.

Aiden Fordham’s gaze flashed with ruthless fury; loosening his tie, he charged at the line of n.

Five minutes later, the gang lay beaten around him, groaning on the ground. Suddenly, the door burst open, and another group rushed in...

The night was darker, the autumn wind colder.

Stella Grant couldn’t just sit here. Bracing herself on the chair, she slowly made her way down the path below the clearing.

A slight slope lay underfoot, hard to notice. She lost her balance and pitched forward.

"Ah!"

She tumbled several tis; searing pain tore through her left arm as she crashed to the ground.

Warm liquid quickly seeped out, staining the sleeve of her left arm—her old wound had reopened.

Fortunately, not far away, beside a dim streetlight, there was a surveillance cara, its lens pointed right at this spot.

Grasping at straws, she used all her strength to crawl up, and pleaded for help at the cold lens.

"Aiden Fordham!" Her voice was furious and desperate. "You bastard!"

"Aiden Fordham! Where are you? There’s still soone here, did you forget?"

Her eyes were red and swollen. She shivered in the cold wind, her whole body in tornt!

She should never have trusted that jerk—what starlit dinner?

Suddenly, she bowed her head, fumbling on the ground, grabbed two sharp stones, and with all her might, hurled them at the cara!

"Bang! Bang!"

Inside the main house, the chief hurried over to report to Special Assistant Lindsey, "Mr. Lindsey, a cara down by the riverside embanknt just went out."

Keegan Lindsey was scrolling on his phone, enjoying coffee. He chuckled, "Definitely sabotage. Probably the boss—doesn’t want anyone spying on him and the missus..."

"No," the chief interrupted, his tone anxious, "The young master’s car hasn’t co back. Cara shows he hasn’t entered the manor gate at all."

Keegan Lindsey felt as if sothing crashed brutally into his head, leaving a ringing in his ears.