Getting Back His ‘Dead’ Wife novel Chapter 9

Chapter 9

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2A8 Necherd

Chapter 9

That night, the most heated argument yet erupted in the villa.

Kendrick slammed the files down in front Lavinia.

At first, Lavinia tried to weasel her way out of it, crying that someone had set her up. But as Kendrick laid out the evidence point by point, her expression changed, from fake grievance to panic, and in the end, it curdled into a reckless, bitter sneer.

“Fine, I planned it all. So what?” She tilted her chin up, tear streaks still glistening on her cheeks, but her eyes were sharp and venomous. “Kendrick, don’t act like you’re innocent! If you hadn’t craved something new, if you hadn’t fallen for me, could I have ever tricked you? You were the one who betrayed in your marriage first! You deserve this!”

“Get out.” Kendrick stared at her, his eyes cold. “Grab your things and disappear. Now.”

“You’re throwing me out? Kendrick, think carefully! I wasted years of my youth on you! All those things you almost did to kill your wife, you let me do them! If I go out and start talking.

“Try it,” Kendrick cut her off, his voice eerily calm. “Let’s see who ruins themselves firs me running your entire family out of Houston for good.”

“1

Lavinia was cowed by the sheer malice in his eyes. She opened her mouth, but no words came

out.

In the end, she packed her things and slunk away.

The villa fell silent once more.

It was empty and colder than it had ever been after Matilda left.

***

Kendrick began to search for Matilda,

He pulled every string he had, checking flight records, immigration logs, and bank statements. But she was gone, like a drop of water evaporating into thin air, not a single trace left behind

She’d never used the secondary card he’d given her, never contacted a single old friend, not even taken a single valuable thing from the villa. She’d only taken the old suitcase she’d brought with

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Chapter 9

her when she first came.

He finally realized how completely a person could vanish if they set their mind to it.

288 Vouchers

A few months later, a faint lead pointed to France. Someone claimed to have caught a glimpse of an American woman with a profile very similar to Matilda’s at the opening of a small art gallery.

Kendrick booked a flight at once.

He wandered Paris for days, asking around, and finally found Matilda’s name registered at a prestigious art academy.

Matilda was a short-term visiting student there, specializing in Western Painting History and Contemporary Art Practice.

Kendrick followed the address to a quiet old neighborhood, where the apartment building had a small courtyard below.

He stood across the street and watched Matilda walk out of the building.

She wore a simple beige knit sweater and linen trousers, her hair cut a little shorter, loosely tucked behind her ears. She held a stack of thick art books and a canvas bag in her arms, a pair of thin-framed glasses perched on her nose.

Sunlight fell on her, and she squinted slightly, her expression calm, even soft, with a faint, focused smile.

She walked with a group of young people, fellow students by the look of them. They chatted as they went, and she nodded every now and then, speaking a few words of French in a clear, unhurried tone, her pronunciation not perfect, but steady.

She showed no gloom, no sorrow, none of the numbness and emptiness that had clung to her m the last days he’d known her.

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