The Plane Tickets He Hoarded The Wife He Hid novel Chapter 230

230 Chapter 230 His Savage Tender

Heart

Vincent’s POV

Before Ashlee Adams could even process what was happening, my expression darkened like a storm cloud. My hand shot out, pressing directly against her knife wound.

I started with slow pressure, then suddenly dug my fingers deep and clamped down with brutal force.

My entire body tensed with the effort I was putting into it.

Ashlee’s scream pierced the air as agony ripped

through her, her body thrashing wildly against my iron grip.

My other hand easily pinned her shoulder down, maintaining my ruthless hold on her wound without letting up for even a heartbeat.

The pain made Ashlee’s face contort and tremble, tears streaming down her cheeks in endless rivers.

I showed zero mercy. Only when fresh blood mixed with the existing stains on Ashlee’s ghostly pale face did I lean closer, my voice cutting like ice. “Now tell

1. me. Does it hurt?”

Ashlee’s body convulsed in pure torment, but my grip was too strong for her to escape..

She could only sob helplessly, her voice breaking as she cried, “It hurts, it hurts.”

Sweat, blood, and tears painted Ashlee’s face in streaks of misery.

Bandages wrapped around her head, and her terror–filled eyes locked onto my face.

I loomed over her, rage twisting my features, veins bulging beneath my skin. My voice was arctic and unforgiving, seeping into every crack of Ashlee’s consciousness like poison.

“You want to know something?” I said. “My heart hurts a hell of a lot more than you do right now.”

Ashlee stared at me in absolute terror, her voice barely a whisper. “What do you want from me?”

I finally released her wound, letting out a harsh breath before speaking in that same frozen tone. “I don’t want anything. I just need my heart to stop feeling like it’s being ripped apart.”

The image of Blanche broken and bloodied in that hospital bed was eating me alive from the inside out.

Right now, the only thing that could dull my own agony was making Ashlee endure pain a thousand times worse than mine. Only then did I feel the slightest bit of relief.

The moment those words left my lips, I drove my fingers back into Ashlee’s wound without an ounce of

mercy.

Ashlee’s screams echoed through the empty space, but

no rescue was coming.

The pain dragged her into unconsciousness.

Watching her go limp, I made a satisfied sound and grabbed a water bottle, dumping the contents straight

onto Ashlee’s face.

Ashlee jerked awake, coughing violently.

I gripped her face again, watching terror and desperation flood her eyes as she started begging. “Vincent, please, just let me go.”

Her voice shook with pure desperation.

But I acted like her words didn’t exist, tightening my hold and continuing my savage torment.

The more Ashlee suffered, the more dark satisfaction filled my chest.

But my own heartache didn’t fade one bit—it only got

worse.

Ashlee passed out multiple times, and each time I just splashed water on her face and dragged her back to consciousness.

When she came to again after losing consciousness repeatedly, I finally loosened my grip, my voice like shattered glass. “When Blanche was begging you to stop, did you show her even a second of mercy?”

Ashlee went rigid, shock hitting her like a physical

blow.

I was notorious for my revolving door of women–I

cycled through them like seasonal wardrobes.

Ashlee had assumed I had completely forgotten about Blanche by now.

But here I was, hunting her down because of Blanche.

Seeing the stunned expression on Ashlee’s face, I lit a cigarette and took a slow drag. As I exhaled the smoke, my lips curved into a cold smile. “Forgot about last time already?” I mocked.

The smoke made Ashlee cough uncontrollably, but even as she struggled for air, she gasped out, “It was Kaden Jacob–everything was his idea! He’s the one who told me to do it, he made me pour that oil on Blanche, he forced me to go after her. I swear it was all

him!”

I drew out the word slowly. “Really?”

Seeing my obvious skepticism, Ashlee rushed to explain, “It’s the truth! He’s the one who made me do it–him and his mother, they both despise Blanche.”

My eyes became slits. “You’re not lying?”

Ashlee nodded frantically. “Every single word is true.”

I considered this, working through the logic. I had to admit, Ashlee was probably being honest.

With the Adams family backing her, Ashlee never would have dared target Blanche on her own.

The only way she’d have the guts to go through with it was if Kaden Jacob was pulling strings behind the

scenes.

With that thought, I finally crushed my cigarette in the

ashtray.

“Fine,” I said, my voice flat and emotionless. “You get a pass–for today.”

With that, I turned and walked out.

Ashlee watched me disappear, and for the first time all night, her shattered heartbeat finally began to slow, allowing her to breathe again.

Blanche’s POV

By the time I saw Vincent return to the hospital, dawn was breaking across the sky.

Amara Jerry had dozed off in the chair beside my bed. Half–asleep, she felt someone gently touch her shoulder.

When Amara opened her eyes and saw Vincent, she startled slightly and was about to speak when Vincent pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. So they both stepped out into the hallway.

Vincent faced Amara and said, “Thanks for staying. You should go home and rest. I’ll watch over Blanche.”

Amara hesitated, concern written all over her face. “She’s still really shaken up from the attack. She’s terrified of being alone in the room, so please stay close and don’t wander off, okay?”

Her words seemed to pierce Vincent, judging by the

sudden tension in his shoulders.

He paused for a moment, then nodded. “Understood.”

After Amara left, Vincent came back into my room.

He settled into the chair beside my bed, his gaze fixed on my face. I looked peaceful and serene in sleep, my breathing soft and steady, my chest rising and falling

gently with each breath.

Vincent’s lips curved into a tender smile at the sight, his hand moving instinctively toward my face–only to pull back at the last second, forcing himself to stop.

He was afraid that touching me might wake me up.

As he looked at the bruises and cuts still visible on my skin, Vincent felt like someone was crushing his heart in a vise, squeezing the life out of it.

The pain was unbearable, and without thinking, he slapped himself across the face–once, then twice, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

After that, tears began streaming down his cheeks.

Watching me sleep, Vincent leaned in and whispered softly, “Blanche, I don’t care if you can hear me or not. I don’t care if you have a husband or a daughter. I don’t care if you love me or not. From now on, I’m never leaving you again.”

With that, Vincent collapsed beside the bed, exhaustion finally claiming him.

It wasn’t until he was completely asleep that I slowly

opened my eyes.

I looked at the clear handprint marks on his face, my own eyes filling with tears.

I had heard every word Vincent whispered to me.

Were his words genuine or just empty promises? I wondered, my heart twisted with uncertainty.

I couldn’t figure it out, so I forced myself to stop thinking, refusing to get trapped in those thoughts any longer.

The next morning, I woke up to an empty hospital room. The sunlight streaming through the windows helped push away some of my fear.

I’d barely stirred when Vincent’s voice came through, gentle and reassuring. “I’m just in the bathroom cleaning up. I’ll be right out, don’t be scared.”

Following the sound, I realized my phone was on a video call with Vincent.

I hesitated for a moment, then whispered back, “Okay.”

Just as I finished speaking, the door to my room

opened.

I instinctively looked toward the entrance, my heart racing, thinking it might be Amber. I was already

preparing to run, but to my surprise, it was Ophelia standing there.