Nine C-Section, Nine Dead Sons, One Escape novel Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Priscilla threw herself to her knees, tears flooding her face. innocent!”

“Julian! I’m innocent! I swear I’m

She wailed like her heart was tearing apart, beating her forehead against the floor.

Blood streamed down her face, smearing everywhere, but she didn’t dare stop.

Julian drove his foot into her shoulder.

She flew backward and cracked her skull against the wall. A spray of blood burst from her mouth and splattered across her dress. Vicious. Visceral.

Julian’s voice came out frozen. “I remembered everything you did for me back then. I never once shortchanged you. And you still have the nerve to stand there and cry foul?”

His face flushed darker. His eyes burned red. His chest heaved.

“How are you this vicious?

You couldn’t even stand to let her exist?”

Priscilla clutched her chest where he’d kicked her. Blood smeared at the corner of her mouth. She

climbed to her feet slowly.

The tears stopped.

She started laughing. It built into something hysterical. Unhinged. “Julian… oh, my sweet, sweet

Julian!”

She stared straight at him, her eyes swimming with mockery.

“The bone marrow extractions. The matching. You authorized it all, every single time. And now you

want to play the grieving saint?”

“You told me you’d clear every obstacle. You said you’d make me Mrs. Ashworth. And now you turn around and call me the monster?”

She advanced on him, step by step.

“Now you’re pointing the finger at me? How noble.”

“Let me ask you something. Between the man who murdered his own children and his wife, and the woman he did it all for, who’s the real monster here?”

Julian’s face went iron. He grabbed the crystal ashtray off his desk and hurled it at her.

“Enough!”

He was panting, shaking, and then he roared toward the door.

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“Get this lying, scheming bitch out of my sight. Take her to Blackwood Psychiatric. She doesn’t step one foot outside unless I say so.”

Two security guards burst in and seized Priscilla by both arms.

Julian stood rooted to the floor, trembling.

After a long time, he forced words through a ruined throat. are being turned over to the authorities. I want life sentences.”

The office emptied.

“Send word. The psychic and the doctor

Julian pressed a hand to his chest, his face corpse–pale, gasping ragged breaths. He slammed his head against the ice casket like a madman.

When blood slicked his forehead, he collapsed to the ground in despair. “Vivienne… Vivienne… I failed you… I was blind…”

After a long while, he dragged himself up, weeping, and sat at his computer. His trembling hands typed out a public apology letter.

[I, Julian Ashworth, listened to lies. I destroyed my own children. I drove my lawful wife to her death. My

crimes are beyond forgiveness…]

The letter went live. The internet detonated.

The business world erupted. Public opinion turned into a firestorm.

Everyone said the same thing. Julian Ashworth was unworthy of his position. He’d let a poisonous woman destroy his household. He’d broken Harold Sinclair’s heart and torched every ounce of trust his

peers had in him.

After that, Julian started to unravel.

He ignored company business. Canceled every meeting. Locked himself in his office with a bottle and the body in the ice casket.

Bottle after bottle. He’d drink himself blind, then wrap himself around her cold body and howl.

Cry until he passed out. Wake up. Drink again.

Within a month, Ashworth Group spiraled into chaos.

Senior leadership resigned in waves. Stock prices cratered. Partners severed contracts.

Creditors hammered at the doors. Banks called in loans. The Ashworth empire swayed on its

foundations.

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The whispers spread everywhere. “Julian Ashworth has lost his mind. Ashworth Group is finished.”

Finally, late one night, the board voted unanimously to remove him.

When security dragged Julian out of Ashworth Tower, he was still clutching a bottle.

Bleary–eyed, swaying, staring at the police lights washing the street in red and blue.

They sent him to a psychiatric hospital. He’d spend the rest of his life there.

The new owner who acquired Ashworth Group made his first executive decision: deal with Priscilla Holloway.

“A woman as venomous as that, if we don’t make an example of her, how do we ever face the public?”

When they kicked in the door of her room, Priscilla had already lost her mind.

Disheveled hair. Cowering in the corner. Muttering the same words over and over.

Ashworth! All of you, kneel!”

“I’m Mrs.

‘Nobody felt sorry for her.

They transferred her to a secured isolation ward. Life imprisonment.

They say she screamed day and night in there. Eventually, deep in the small hours, she used a bedsheet

to end her own life.

Chapter 8