Her fifth daughter died, so she deleted his bloodline. novel Chapter 97

Chapter 1

Six years after the divorce, I ran into Justin Hayes at the luxury postnatal retreat where I

worked.

He’d come to close out the bill for his wife’s stay, and I handled client services at the

front desk.

We made small talk, empty filler just to bridge the silence. He hesitated, as if weighing

his words, then finally said it.

“If you need anything, you’ve still got my number.”

“I’m good, but thanks.”

After he finished the paperwork, he paused. “Sarah, do you still hate me?”

I smiled but didn’t answer. I didn’t love him anymore, and I didn’t have the energy to

hate him either.

***

The lobby was spotless and too quiet. The faint scent of baby lotion lingered in the air.

When I didn’t respond, he rushed to add. “She insisted on this place. I didn’t realize you

worked here.”

The reservation had come through my colleague. Everything had been done online.

The six-figure invoice for the Premier Suite sat on the desk. The client had mentioned her husband would stop by to finalize the details and take care of payment.

I never imagined it would be Justin. I kept my smile professional and slipped into my practiced routine.

“We’re the highest-rated postnatal retreat in the city.” I straightened the contract on the desk.

I asked my colleague to bring out the complimentary welcome kit we’d prepared. When she handed it to him, she turned on the charm

Chapter 1

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“Mr. Hayes, she’s lucky to have you. Not even that celebrity last month booked the

Premier Suite.”

I walked him to the elevators on autopilot. He glanced at his watch, the kind that

probably cost more than my car.

“You off soon? I can drive you home.”

“That’s nice of you, but I’m good.”

I pressed the elevator button and turned back toward the desk.

“Sarah.”

He called after me. I looked back, puzzled.

Our eyes met. His phone buzzed. He frowned and picked up, and I turned away.

Behind me, a woman’s voice carried over the line, sweet and familiar. Six years after the

divorce, and nothing really changed.

My colleague was typing client info into the system, muttering under her breath.

“God, marrying rich really is the move. Mrs. Hayes is living the trophy-wife dream.”

“Her feed’s basically just designer bags, jewelry, fancy dinners, she’s out there living it

up.”

“Looks like her husband’s the CEO of Linder Corp.”

A second later, she let out a sharp breath.

I glanced over. “What’s wrong?”

She sounded genuinely rattled.

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