The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 112

Milford's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his voice low. "You aren't happy that I broke off the engagement with her?"

"Why would I be happy about you using me as a shield?"

Was Milford out of his mind?

"Since you can't stand up to your parents, just be good to Tamara. Don't use me as your excuse anymore," Leilani said with a cold sneer.

Milford froze. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean." Leilani looked him straight in the eye. "If you wanted to call off it, you should have told them directly, instead of letting them think I was the one causing trouble."

Milford's expression shifted slightly. "I didn't..."

"It doesn't matter anymore." Leilani raised her hand to hail a passing taxi and pulled the door open. "I just hope that from now on, you keep me out of whatever mess is going on between the Sherwoods and the Sloans."

With that, she got into the car without looking back.

Milford stood frozen in place, watching the taxi drive away until it vanished into the night. He clenched his fists, a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest. His intention had been to protect her.

...

Back at Celestial Heights, Leilani took a hot shower, but the tightness in her chest didn't go away. She dried her hair and sat down at her computer, habitually logging into the dark web.

The moment she entered, an encrypted message popped up.

[Dr. L, Arnold has been poisoned in Zamora. The situation is critical. Can we hire you to treat him again once we transfer him back? Don't worry, the payment will be the same as last time. We won't shortchange you.]

Arnold was poisoned? But hadn't he been fine before she returned to the country? As long as he followed her recovery plan, he should have been back to normal eventually. How could he be poisoned again so suddenly?

It seemed the situation surrounding this mysterious VIP was complicated.

Late night, Zamora.

The hallway of the private hospital was empty and silent, save for the eerie green glow of the emergency exit signs. A man stood outside the ICU, looking through the glass at the unconscious Arnold. His eyes were dark and grim.

The moment he heard Arnold was in trouble, Callahan had taken a private jet straight to Zamora.

"Boss, the plane is ready. We can take off anytime," a bodyguard in a black suit reported in a low voice behind him.

Callahan nodded slightly, his voice cold. "Is everything handled here at the hospital?"

"Everything is taken care of. There won't be any records left."

"Good." Callahan took one last look at Arnold before turning to leave. "We move immediately."

He had his assistant arrange the transport. Zamora wasn't his territory; it wasn't safe. It would be easier to monitor Arnold's condition back in the states.