When She Ended It With Divorce (Chiara and Titus) novel Chapter 103

**Chapter 103**

Lena’s heart raced as her gaze locked onto the crimson stains, her mind spiraling into a whirlwind of panic. The tremors coursing through her body felt uncontrollable, as if the very ground beneath her was collapsing.

The horrifying images replayed in her mind like a broken record, each frame more vivid than the last.

In that moment of stark realization, Lena confronted a chilling truth: she had never truly comprehended the darkness that lurked within the man she loved.

‘He’s like the devil himself,’ she thought, a shiver crawling up her spine.

Queenie’s eyes narrowed, her expression radiating disdain. “Lena, if I were in your shoes, I would be on my knees praying that Paul doesn’t pin this on you. If even a whisper of your involvement in tonight’s chaos reaches him…”

Lena’s breath caught in her throat, a wave of terror washing over her as she met Queenie’s gaze, feeling as if she might faint at any moment.

With a sneer, Queenie continued, “You witnessed what happened to that poor guy. He’s probably done for, and trust me, you won’t fare any better.”

Lena felt her complexion drain of color, her breaths coming in rapid, shallow gasps. The full weight of dread settled over her like a suffocating blanket.

The mere thought of being implicated sent waves of panic crashing through her, leaving her utterly disoriented.

Yet, amidst the chaos of her thoughts, regret gnawed at her insides for everything that had unfolded that night.

She buried her face in her trembling hands, stifling her sobs as helplessness enveloped her.

“What should I do?” Lena whimpered, her voice barely a whisper.

Meanwhile, in the sterile confines of the hospital, a nurse meticulously drew blood from Chiara for testing. Lost in a haze, Chiara appeared to be merely sleeping, the monitors beside her beeping softly, offering a false sense of peace.

A short while later, Queenie and Paul arrived, their expressions heavy with the lingering shock of the evening’s events.

Neither of them dared approach Titus, who stood like a statue, his face a mask of stoicism.

Guilt washed over Queenie as she glanced at Chiara’s still form resting in the hospital bed.

Turning her attention to Titus, whose expression remained unreadable, she murmured, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Goodman. I should have kept a closer eye on her. I shouldn’t have let her go off alone to the restroom because of the raffle. This is all my fault.”

Titus remained silent, his gaze fixed on Chiara, replaying the moment he had kicked the door open in his mind, the memory like a haunting specter.

The vein in his forehead pulsed ominously, and he pressed a hand to it, his voice laced with icy resolve.

“Any leads?” he inquired, his tone heavy with expectation.

Paul lowered his gaze, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “We’re still pulling the surveillance footage from the venue, but we’ve already identified the guy responsible.”

Titus shot him a look that could freeze fire.

Paul rushed to explain, “His name is Francis Wells. He’s an associate director in the advertising department. It turns out he’s a complete creep. Nobody had any idea he was a repeat offender until we dug deeper. He’s harassed nearly every woman in his department…”

As Paul spoke, his voice grew softer, and his posture shrank under Titus’s icy scrutiny.

The atmosphere in the room thickened, a palpable chill emanating from Titus. “A scumbag like that is working here, and you didn’t catch even a hint of it? Paul?”

Paul’s face blanched, cold sweat forming on his brow.

As Titus’s special assistant, he knew he had seriously messed up this time.

He was supposed to be Titus’s right hand, the one who kept his eyes and ears open to the world around them.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Goodman. I’ll accept a pay cut as punishment,” Paul offered, desperation creeping into his voice.

His position was unique; he reported directly to Titus and no one else, earning a salary that surpassed most department heads.

Queenie trembled beside him, her throat constricting as she contemplated whether she should also volunteer for a pay cut.

Titus’s voice sliced through the hospital air like a knife. “Francis Wells? I never want to see him again in Halinston.”

Relief washed over Paul, realizing that Titus’s anger would not be directed at him any longer.

“Yes, Mr. Goodman. I’ll handle it,” Paul replied, turning to exit the room.

As he left, Queenie thought, ‘Seriously, Paul? You’re just going to leave me here to face Titus alone?’

She instinctively shrank back, attempting to blend into the background.

Fortunately, the medical team arrived promptly, led by Yves.

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