Her fifth daughter died, so she deleted his bloodline. novel Chapter 147

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But in this brutal standoff, he stayed cold. Unmoved.

“Sloane, you’ve got thirty seconds left.”

At that moment, her heart clenched like it had been stabbed.

How ironic. This was the man who once loved her like life itself.

Eight years ago, he’d fallen for her at first sight at the Hawthorne estate.

She was working as his grandfather’s caregiver. Their worlds couldn’t have been further apart-but he confessed to her

over and over again. A hundred times, at least.

He once saw her glance at a patch of bellflowers, and that same night had all the roses in the garden replaced.

When she twisted her ankle, he booked out an entire hospital floor just for her.

That was also when she learned about the girl chasing him-Vivienne Blake, childhood friend and heiress of one of the wealthiest families in Riverstone. She’d pursued him for years, to the point of obsession.

But Declan never once looked her way.

“Sloane. I love only you. So what if Vivienne and I are ‘a perfect social match’? I can’t stand her.”

The Hawthorne family tried to force him to give up. They stripped his shares and exiled him to a private island overseas.

He went on a hunger strike for twenty straight days to get the outside world to relent-and it worked. He moved Sloane’s

heart.

They got married. And for a time, he truly loved her like he promised.

Everything changed six months ago when Vivienne suddenly returned from abroad-and this time, Declan’s attitude

toward her shifted drastically.

He canceled international meetings just to pick her up at the airport. For her welcome-home party, he stayed out for

three straight nights.

When Sloane confronted him, he told her the truth. “A year ago in London. I was in a car crash. Vivienne saved me-she

was in a coma for a year because of it.”

“Sloane, I love you. But she just woke up. I need to repay her. Just give me a year, okay?”

At first, she believed him.

Until the night of the party. She collapsed from a flare-up of an old illness and was rushed to the ER. Declan didn’t

answer a single call.

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In desperation, her mother went to the yacht where the party was held. But she never came back.

Everyone insisted her mother had taken her own life-that it was suicide, not murder.

Even Declan, who hadn’t been at the scene, believed that.

But Sloane remembered the call she got after the surgery. She’d heard chaos, Vivienne yelling-and her mother’s screams

of pain.

Her mother didn’t jump. She was forced.

In the six months since, she’d been drowning in guilt and grief, crying herself to sleep night after night. In the depths of

her despair, she finally uncovered a single clue-from a waiter.

She pleaded with Declan again and again, begging him to help her.

But when the case finally went to court, he didn’t hesitate to stand on the other side.

To defend the woman who killed her mother, Declan threatened Sloane with her own mother’s ashes, just to force her

to bow her head and apologize.

At that moment, as Sloane looked at Declan, he felt so foreign-like a demon risen straight from hell.

She was done. Broken. Her fingers shook as she scrawled her name on the apology letter.

There. Satisfied? Now bring them back from the boat…”

But her hoarse voice had barely faded when a cry rang out behind her.

Vivienne suddenly collapsed at the defendant’s table, clutching her head. “Declan! Help me-my head hurts!”

In an instant, Declan dropped the tablet in a flurry and bolted toward her.

On the stream, the countdown ended. Without Declan’s orders to stop, the bodyguards opened the urn…

“No! I signed it! Declan, tell them to stop!”

Sloane screamed, hysterical. But no one listened.

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