The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 132

ELIJAH’S POV: 

Inside the van, the air was cold and smelled like metal and stale coffee. A laptop sat open on a fold-out table. An officer stood beside it, hands hovering over the keyboard like he was afraid to press play. 

Mr. Willow had looked at me straight in the eyes. “Elijah. You need to brace yourself. What you’re about to see. it’s not easy.” 

“I’m already past that,” I’d replied, my voice coming out hoarse and rough. “Show me.” 

He nodded once, then gestured to the officer. 

The footage had flickered to life in black and white, grainy but clear enough. The timestamp in the corner had matched the exact minute my elevator had stopped moving. 

My heart had stopped when I’d seen her. 

Hannah. 

Standing beside her car, relaxed and completely unaware. She’d been bending slightly to check something in the trunk, probably making sure she had everything for Amelia’s performance. She’d been smiling and fully alive and safe and beautiful. 

Then the shadow entered the frame. 

My blood had turned to ice. 

The attacker had moved fast. Too fast. A blur of motion from the left side of the screen. Hannah had barely had time to turn her head before the first strike had landed. 

I watched her body jerk violently. I watched her stagger backward. Even in the terrible quality of the footage, I could see her trying to fight back. 

Pain and anger had filled my entire body. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. 

I’d watched as she’d kicked out, connecting with the attacker’s leg. I watched her scream, though there was no audio. I watched her fight like hell, just like I knew she would. 

My fists had clenched so tightly my nails had cut into my palms. I could feel blood, but I didn’t care. 

Then a second person entered the frame it was a woman and my vision had blurred with rage. 

A third person who looked like a man dashed into the car. 

They’d grabbed her together. One holding her arms behind her back while the other had struck her again when she’d tried to fight free. 

I’d watched my wife collapse. I watched her body go limp. 

Then they’d dragged her like she was nothing, like she was garbage, to a dark-colored car parked a few spaces away. 

They’d opened the trunk. 

And they’d lowered he inside. 

Then closed it. 

The car had peeled out of frame seconds later, those same tire marks I’d seen on the concrete being created in real 

-time. 

The footage had ended. 

Silence had swallowed the van whole. No one had moved. No one had spoken. 

I hadn’t been able to breathe. My heart had stopped somewhere back in that parking lot the moment I’d watched her hit the concrete. 

Mr. Willow had touched my shoulder gently. “Elijah…” 

That’s when it happened. 

A sound had torn out of me, raw and animalistic and completely involuntary. A sob I no longer had the strength or the will to contain. 

My hands had come up to cover my face as my entire body had folded in on itself. I’d bent forward, elbows on my knees, and just… broken. 

“She was fighting,” I’d choked out between sobs. “She was fighting for her life and I was stuck in an elevator.” 

My chest had heaved violently as I’d cried like I hadn’t cried since I was a child. The sort of crying that burns through your lungs and leaves you trembling and completely empty. 

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