I Stopped Loving Him When He Let Me Bleed Out novel Chapter 68

She would worry about tomorrow when tomorrow came.

A heavy storm had rolled in.

Downstairs, a sleek Bentley Flying Spur idled quietly by the curb outside St. Jude's.

Finn sat in the driver's seat, watching through the rain-streaked windshield as Sienna stepped out through the sliding glass doors.

She paused on the top step, moving sluggishly as she dug through her bag for an umbrella.

Raindrops hit her hair, but she made no effort to seek shelter from the downpour.

A fierce urge to throw the door open and pull her into his arms slammed into him.

His fingers curled tightly around the door handle, but he forcefully ripped his hand away.

He didn't dare.

He could only watch her from the suffocating safety of the shadows.

He watched as she finally popped open a small umbrella and descended the steps.

After a few paces, she abruptly halted, extending a slender hand past the rim to catch the heavy drops.

The cold rain pooled in her palm. She stared at it for a long moment, a faint, melancholic smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Finn had been sick with worry that the vicious online leak would shatter her peace, terrified that some internet psycho might track her down.

He had demanded updates from Isaac, but secondhand reassurances did nothing to settle the burning anxiety in his chest.

Unless he laid eyes on her himself, his heart refused to stop racing.

Now that he was looking at her, she seemed oddly serene, taking a quiet moment in the rain. She hadn't completely broken down.

The vice grip on his chest finally loosened a fraction.

Suddenly, Sienna's gaze swept toward the street.

Finn ducked instinctively, a reflex as sharp as it was pathetic.

The sheer panic of the movement made him feel utterly ridiculous.

A second later, he remembered the heavy tint on the Bentley's windows; it was pitch-black from the outside.

She couldn't see him at all.

He sat trembling in the luxurious dark, feeling like a repulsive voyeur.

His phone screen lit up, shattering the silence.

It was Julian.

"Captain Fletcher, I found our culprit. But..." Julian's voice was hushed, thick with nervous hesitation. "I don't know if you really want to cross this particular line."

Finn's voice was devoid of all humanity, dripping with pure ice.

"Spit it out. I'm out of patience."

"Sending the file right now. I upheld my end of the bargain, so that two million dollars better be—"

Finn severed the connection before Julian could finish the sentence.

The screen went black, then flared to life with a notification.

Yolanda lounged elegantly in the center armchair, dressed in a breathtaking sapphire-blue gown, a priceless diamond tennis bracelet catching the dazzling light on her wrist.

She sipped gracefully from an antique teacup, basking in the fawning compliments of the high-society wives admiring Chloe's calligraphy.

"Chloe's penmanship is simply masterful. She possesses such refined talent."

"Well, naturally. As the sole heiress to the Cross family, perfection is expected."

"You are so profoundly blessed, Yolanda. Your daughter-in-law is gorgeous and brilliant."

Chloe stood obediently behind an ornate drafting table, gripping a heavy calligraphy brush, a strained, polite smile frozen on her face.

Her wrist, deeply traumatized and overworked from lack of rest, throbbed in agony. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep her hand from visibly shaking.

She ground her teeth, bearing the silent torture just to maintain appearances.

A stunning piece of traditional art lay half-finished on the parchment, the dark ink still gleaming wetly.

Suddenly, the massive oak double doors flew open.

Chloe flinched and looked up. It was Finn.

He didn't bother pausing to switch into house slippers; his wet dress shoes hammered mercilessly against the pristine marble foyer as he stalked inward.

Dark, muddy footprints stained the plush Persian rugs, tracking a path of destruction straight toward the velvet couches.

Every head in the room snapped in his direction.

The polite, sycophantic smiles remained plastered on the socialites' faces, but sheer terror rapidly eclipsed their eyes.