Three Years Forgotten, Why Go Crazy When I Say Goodbye? novel Chapter 70

Though Willow Horgan said she would, she had absolutely no intention of contacting Julian Sinclair. She wanted nothing to do with him anymore; her only goal was to finalize the divorce, resign from her job, and cut ties with him completely.

Upon arriving home, Willow immediately noticed a package that had arrived from Seattle. It was wrapped meticulously in a sturdy shipping box, but judging by its bulk, it didn't look like the usual contracts she received.

She didn't think much of it, assuming there was simply a larger batch of paperwork this time, and casually sliced it open. To her surprise, it wasn't a stack of contracts inside, but a wide assortment of medicine boxes. She stared at it for a moment, momentarily stunned.

After examining the contents carefully, Willow realized it was a comprehensive collection of over-the-counter and prescription medications. Every single one was a highly sought-after, top-tier brand in Seattle. Some were so popular that back when she lived there, she hadn't been able to get her hands on them even after waiting in line all day.

Why would Arthur Vance suddenly send her so much medicine? Willow was thoroughly confused. The shipping label included the sender's information, and the phone number looked familiar—likely Arthur's. Without overthinking it, she dialed the number on the slip.

The call connected quickly. "Mr. Vance," Willow started, "I received the package you sent. It's filled with medicine. Did you send this to the wrong person by mistake?"

There was no response from the other end. Assuming it was a bad connection, Willow repeated herself, "Mr. Vance, did this get sent to the wrong person? If so, just give me the correct address and I can forward it for you."

Still met with silence, Willow grew even more puzzled. "Mr. Vance, can you hear me? Hello? Are you there?"

As she spoke, she checked her phone screen to make sure the call hadn't dropped. The signal was fine, deepening her confusion.

Just as she was at a loss and about to hang up, a voice finally came through the speaker. "I'm not Mr. Vance."

It was a deep, magnetic voice with a slight, gravelly edge. Transmitted through the phone's speaker, the timbre washed over her like a low, resonant note played on a cello, sending a faint shiver down her spine.

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