Victoria Monroe felt like she had fallen into an endless abyss, darkness all around, barefoot she ran for a long ti.
She didn’t know what she was escaping from, only that this place was terrifying, she had to get out!
After what seed like ages, a faint line of daylight appeared ahead, tearing through the darkness.
Victoria chased after that line of light, and just as it was about to disappear, she suddenly reached out and grabbed forward.
"Got it."
Suddenly she was dazzled by brightness; she opened her eyes to et Rhys Hawthorne’s dark eyes, a hint of confusion flashing through them.
That hint of emotion flickered away quickly, reverting to its usual cold solitude, like autumn morning mist wrapped in frost, cold and ethereal.
Victoria instinctively blurted out, "Rhys, why are you here?"
As soon as she spoke, she realized her throat felt like it had been sliced open by a blade, burning with pain.
Soon she discovered that it wasn’t just her throat in pain, but also her wrists, knees, elbows and other joints, her skin was experiencing a strong burning pain.
"Rhys..."
She was about to speak when she suddenly felt sothing in her palm.
Looking down, she found that the light she had caught in her dream was actually Rhys Hawthorne’s wrist, no wonder he had that look when she just woke up.
"Sorry, sorry." Victoria hurriedly withdrew her hand.
She felt a greasy sensation in her palm and all over her body, as if her skin was covered in an extra layer of film.
Rhys noticed what she was thinking and explained, "The nurse applied anti-freeze dication to prevent scarring."
Victoria never expected that the person who saved her in the end wouldn’t be Julian Fordham, but Rhys Hawthorne.
A thousand words upon the tip of her tongue wound up as only a sentence, "I’ve troubled you again, but how did you know I was in trouble?"
Rhys’s downcast eyes made it hard to see his thoughts, "You blocked , I was worried that maybe last night sending you ho made Julian mind, I changed numbers and called but no answer."
He glossed over the night of internal struggle, gazing at Victoria’s weak face, "You’re pregnant and he doesn’t know the truth, I was afraid sothing would happen to you, so I resorted to the dishonorable way of climbing through the window, sorry."
Her spirits were low, having soone see her in such a pathetic state, that small weak face flashed a hint of helplessness: "I don’t bla you, I should thank you, if it weren’t for you, I..."
Victoria choked, she didn’t even know how to describe to an outsider that she was nearly killed by her husband being imprisoned in a bathtub.
It was too humiliating.
She still rembered back then on set, every ti after filming, she would find a place with no one to chat on the phone.
Every little detail of what happened on set would be recounted to that person.
Once she talked for half an hour, turning around to see Rhys Hawthorne standing in the hallway.
Behind him was an expanse of snowstorm, and she had long turned into a snowman.
Facing his calm eyes, he asked, "With just a few hours of rest each day, is it worth wasting them on such trivial matters?"
Wrapped in a thick down jacket, her small face brimming with a smile, at that ti when she ntioned Julian Fordham, her eyes sparkled with starlight.
"Silly boy, clearly you’ve never been in love, the emotional value he provides can’t be compensated with a re half hour of sleep."
He impassively asked, "Do you really like him that much?"
How did she answer back then?
"He’s the best man in the world to , we are childhood sweethearts, inseparable, I, I like him the most!"
The past Victoria threw a boorang that hit her four years later right between the eyes.
Maybe Rhys found it ridiculous, the man who treated her the best nearly took her life.
And in such an extrely disgraceful, twisted way.
Victoria clutched the bed sheet with her fingers, a helpless bitter smile tugging at her lips, "If you want to laugh, then laugh, I brought it upon myself."
But Rhys’s face had not a hint of mockery, he stood quietly at the window, becoming a beautiful tableau with the snowflakes swirling outside.
God knows what he saw, his handso features flashed with a chill, exquisite yet sharp, his eyes cold as if intent on killing.
Thin lips tightly pressed, he spoke, "There’s nothing funny, the vicissitudes of life, transformations occur as a seed growing into a towering tree, let alone people? The human heart is the hardest to gauge."
Finished, he pulled the curtains, bringing a snow pear with bird’s nest soup from the prepared food at the side, "You’re very weak, need rest, drink so pear water to soothe your throat."
She reached to take it, her wrist exerted force, instinctively letting out a soft cry: "Sss..."
The injury on her wrist sent a sharp pain.
Rhys furrowed his brow slightly, "If you don’t mind, I can feed you."
Thinking of Julian Fordham’s crazed, obsessive deanor last night, she didn’t want mud thrown her way during future divorce, so she shook her head, "Don’t trouble you, is there a nurse?"
Rhys didn’t say much, "There is, I’ll call for you."
He got up and left, the sound of cars braking echoed downstairs.
In front of the private hospital, led by a Cullinan, ten cars arrived in succession, a brigade dressed uniformly in black suits.
Each tall and strong, at a glance fierce trained hands.
The entire street enveloped in a murderous aura.
Before a bodyguard could open the car door, Julian Fordham stepped out.
He looked up, just in ti to see the man standing at the fourth-floor window.
The man looked down on him with a proud visage, well-defined features, especially those eyes, akin to a deity standing at the top of the food chain overlooking the world.
Julian hated this feeling, as if no matter how hard he worked all his life, he would never touch Rhys Hawthorne’s feet.
Rhys was born in a place that made the world look up.
His wife was in that man’s hands, moreover this hospital belonged to the Hawthorne Family.
Despite the differences between the Hawthorne Family being like gods and mortals, for his wife, even killing a god he wouldn’t stop!
Assistant Prescott realized there was no stopping him, hence followed behind Julian without a word.
This was no longer that calm president, but a husband wishing to bring his wife ho.
Rhys drew the curtains, called a nurse, and gently closed the door.
Behind the door, his expression solidified into cold severity.
Assistant Woods murmured, "Julian Fordham has brought people here."
Rhys sneered, "Ca just in ti, settle old and new scores together."
He hadn’t deliberately hidden, otherwise, Julian wouldn’t have found the place so quickly.
Julian didn’t directly charge in forcefully, after all, the hospital was still operating normally, he gave courtesy before striking.
The automatic door slowly opened, revealing Rhys clad in white shirt and black trousers, coming into view.
He only had one assistant by his side.
And he, dragging sothing behind him.
On closer inspection, it wasn’t a steel pipe, but a golf club.
The man’s fingers tightly clenched, the white of his hand back veins bulged.
A black prayer bead fell to the back of his hand, forming a sharp contrast.
Rhys took off the black prayer beads and handed them to Assistant Woods, the mont the beads were removed, it was as if he was breaking a seal.
The usual serene brows vanished, replaced by an overwhelming murderous fury filling his face.
Surrounded by a murderous aura, Rhys dragged the golf club swiftly forward, no unnecessary words, he raised his hand and viciously swung it towards Julian’s body!
"Bang!"
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