Twenty-Six receipts of betrayal Novel novel Chapter 47

Chapter 2

He used to say those other women were just flings–he loved watching me get jealous and personally deal with those

little hussies.

Only Bianca was different. Again and again, she was his exception.

Out of all eight mistresses back then, she was the only one that was real.

I said nothing and headed to the guest room.

I woke up from a nightmare in the middle of the night, parched. Going to the bar for water, I caught Vincent on the balcony, calling his buddy.

His voice carried a grating smugness:

“What can I say? I was too caught up in Bianca at the time, so helping her get some payback felt only natural. Prison seemed perfect for Lindsay–her stubborn streak needed a proper breaking in.”

“Besides, if I didn’t lock her up for three years, how could Bianca and I have our fun? Now I’ve had my fill, Lindsay’s out, and once Bianca pops out this kid, I’ll ship her off and settle down with Lindsay for real.”

“Though I’ll give Lindsay credit–she’s definitely changed. Money well spent on those lifers inside to… adjust her

attitude.”

My grip on the phone was so tight my knuckles cracked.

Before Vincent could turn around, I was already back in my room, slumped against the door like a broken doll.

Eventually, I lit a cigarette.

In the mirror across from me, through the smoke, my eyes were blood–red.

Just like my first year inside.

Hair ripped out in chunks. Skin split open by belt buckles. Cigarette butts extinguished on my flesh. Ice–cold metal rods driven through me. The metallic taste of blood that never seemed to fade.

So all those attacks, all that torture from the prison queens–Vincent had orchestrated every bit of it.

While I was living in hell, he was busy going wild with another woman.

My guy called:

Chapter 2

“Boss, everything’s ready. Should we—”

“Let them enjoy themselves a few more days. The fall hits harder when you’re on top of the world.”

Three years. Vincent never visited me once.

So he had no clue that starting year two, everyone he’d paid off–whether inside or out–started dying under

mysterious circumstances.

Vincent thought he was molding the perfect little wife. What walked out of that place was a demon.

Midnight. Someone crawled into my bed. That familiar smell of tobacco.

“Lindsay, you’re so thin… I’m sorry about these three years. I missed you so damn much…”

I stopped Vincent’s wandering hand, voice flat:

“If you missed me so much, why’d you send me away? And why didn’t you visit even once?”

Vincent looked down, sighing:

“We survived that orphanage together, built everything from nothing–you think I wanted to hurt you? But that

stubborn streak was going to destroy you. And you did hurt someone. Maybe some time inside would help you think

straight.”

“I was afraid seeing you would make me weak. Bianca’s leg was ruined because of you–she needed care. I had to make things right for both of you…”

“It’s all behind us now. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Three years of hell, all that calculated torture–and he brushed it off like it was nothing.

The moment Vincent’s lips touched my cheek, the nanny knocked:

“Mr. Vincent, Miss Bianca says her stomach hurts. She’s asking for you…”

“On my way. Lindsay, I’ll be right back to keep you company.”

All that tenderness vanished instantly as he rushed out. He never came back.

I went to the bathroom and scrubbed every place he’d touched–over and over until my skin was raw and bleeding.

Only then did the nausea start to fade,

The next morning, Vincent told me to get dressed up nice.

Chapter 3