His Wicked Obsession (Archer and Virginia) novel Chapter 496

"What exactly are you trying to say?" "Gemma" demanded coldly, turning around to face him as she forced down her rising panic.

Archer pulled a sleek black phone from his coat pocket and shoved it into her hand.

"Because you aren't Gemma Harrington. Your name is Virginia Caldwell, and you are my wife!" His tone was calm, but every word hit with the weight of an anvil.

"Gemma" looked at him like he was absolutely absurd, as if staring at a complete psycho.

"Mr. Vanderbilt, even fairytales have a limit." She tried to hand the phone back, her voice colder than before. "My parents are alive, and my husband and I are deeply in love. What makes you think you can mess with my head using a few vague remarks?"

Archer didn't argue. He just stubbornly pressed the phone back into her hands.

"Take this phone. Everything you want to know, I will tell you."

"I don't—"

Right then, the faint sound of footsteps and low chatter echoed from the other end of the corridor.

Guests were heading their way.

"Gemma" gritted her teeth.

If Dominic saw her tangled up with this man again, the consequences would be unimaginable.

Left with no choice, she quickly shoved the phone into her clutch and shot him a low, warning glare. "Stop bothering me!"

With that, she grabbed her dress and hurried toward the restroom.

Archer didn't stop her. He stood there, watching her slightly frantic retreat, a deep, heavy shadow crossing his eyes.

As long as she took the phone, it was only a matter of time before this facade was ripped to shreds!

...

The second photo was of a beautiful, porcelain-doll-like little girl.

She was wearing a pale yellow pinafore dress, her hair in two little pigtails. Her big, bright eyes smiled sweetly at the camera.

Finally, there was a text message.

[Your name is Virginia Caldwell. You are a psychologist and Doctor White's protégé, Ginny.]

[You hate the smell of seafood and are severely allergic to cream. Your favorite colors are pastels. You despise heavy perfumes like rose; you prefer the calming, elegant scent of white tea.]

[And the little girl in the photo is our daughter, Cindy. Every day, she asks when Mommy is coming home...]

"Gemma" stared at the little girl named Cindy on the screen. Her heart violently contracted, and a dense, overwhelming ache pierced through her chest.

A fleeting, blurry image flashed through her mind—a little girl clinging to her leg, calling out "Mommy" in a sweet, milky voice. Standing next to her was a tall, impossibly cold and striking man...