The Rewritten Love: A Second Beginning (Madelyn) novel Chapter 1293

Chapter 1293 

Macey shared her thoughts, “I find Ms. Harper to be quite nice, very different from Ms. Windham. It’s my first time seeing a woman as 

carefree as her, much better than Ms. Samford, who kept bossing us 

around the moment she arrived at the villa.” 

Nancy sighed in agreement, “That’s true. Let’s be patient and see how things unfold. Since Mr. Turner hasn’t returned our calls, let’s not alert 

him.” 

Macey nodded in agreement. 

The treatment they discussed involved an injection administered every three months, designed to dissolve the clot. This duration could feel simultaneously lengthy and brief, depending on the perspective. 

The silence that typically enveloped Ventropolis Prison was occasionally pierced by nocturnal howls. Within the confines of a fenced combat arena, Fred, bearing wounds, stepped down from the platform, accepting a towel from his deputy warden. His attention then shifted to a man on the platform, now motionless and bloody. 

This grim policy of the prison offered victors a glimmer of freedom, while the defeated were doomed to never leave the platform alive. 

Fred, cleaning off the blood, inquired, “Any news yet?” 

The deputy warden, following behind, understood without asking that Fred was inquiring about a specific person. “Mr. Turner, it’s only been three days, and you’ve asked six times. If you’re really concerned, why not fly there yourself? Besides, the matter you wanted to investigate 

Chapter 1293 

seems to be progressing there.” 

Fred pondered, ‘Only three days?’ 

He discarded the towel, donned his black military uniform, and entered his office. The office’s chill contrasted sharply with the warmth emanating from a drawing on the wall, Mya’s artwork from 

her visit. 

Seated at his desk, Fred lit a cigar, adopting a relaxed posture as his 

deputy warden assisted with the lighter. He then questioned, “Any 

calls from that end?” 

The deputy warden reported, “The prison’s security systems had a 

malfunction, revealing an escape attempt. Fortunately, it was 

thwarted in time, and the culprits have been captured and executed.’ 

Fred was momentarily haunted by Mya’s voice, reminiscing, “Fred, I 

drew a little person for you. Does it look like me? And do you see this 

next to it? This ugly, rotten black mushroom is you, just as dark as your face.” 

The memory felt like an auditory illusion. 

The deputy warden, noticing Fred’s fixed gaze on the drawing, realized 

the significance it held for him over the days. 

Yet, Fred’s fascination with Mya seemed a mere whim, paling in