บททั้งหมดของ He Hurt Me, Now He Wants Me Back: บทที่ 241 - บทที่ 250

Imogene Scott It’s Mia. She’s standing at the foot of the stairs. My heart skips, but the instant I see her, a knot tightens in my stomach. She’s not supposed to be here, neither am I.“Mia!” I whisper, too loudly. She’s standing there, looking every bit as out of place as I feel. She rushes up to me and her hands grip my arms. “Kathy, what are you doing down here? It’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be here.” My stomach drops even though I don’t quickly register that name. Oh wait, I’m Kathy.“I—I don’t understand,” I stutter. “Why are you here? What’s going on?” Mia takes a deep breath, steadying herself before she speaks. Her eyes dart around, checking to make sure no one’s listening. “I’m a reporter, Imogene. I’ve been investigating The Blues Heavenly Gates. They’re a cult. And they’ve been hiding something massive. I’m here to gather evidence. To expose them.” The words hardly make sense. Reporter. Evidence. I’m trying to process it all, but it doesn’t quite sink in. I b

Damien ShawThe second Lily hops into the back seat, she’s already talking. “Are we going to see Mummy now?"I glance at her through the rearview mirror, one brow raised. Not even a hello? I grip the steering wheel, shifting the car into drive. Sheila is out running some chores so I have to be the one to pick up Lily. "You haven’t even said hello to Daddy yet," I point out. Lily huffs, as if greetings are a waste of time. "Sorry." I shake my head. "It’s fine, sweetie, but we’re not seeing Mummy for another two hours." Lily’s face scrunches up in disappointment. She slouches her shoulders dramatically then glances up at me again. "Why?" she finally asks. "Visiting hours." "What about Sheila?" she asks. "Busy. You’re stuck with Daddy for now." I say with a smirk.She slouches dramatically in her booster seat again. "Daddy is no fun." I scoff. "Hey, I can be fun too." She gives me a skeptical look. "Really?" "Really," I confirm. Lily thinks f

Damien Shaw Since the ice cream truck across the hospital is closed, Lily and I decided to go for smoothies instead. Somewhere in the middle of the smoothie-maker blending the strawberry-banana smoothie, I rake it’s almost 8pm. “A little extra lemon juice, if you can,” Lily says standing on her toes so she can be able to see whatever the smoothie maker is doing. I can notice her eyeing the lemon in the smoothie-maker’s hand.“Eeeeeven more lemon,” Lily reiterates.After getting us smoothies, we return back to the hospital. Imogene is no where in sight but the nurse reassures me she probably went on a walk. “This is so good,” Lily says, taking a large spoonful of the smoothie into her mouth. We’re now sitted on a couch in Imogene’s hospital room. “Can you turn on the tv daddy?” Lily asks, pointing at the tv on the wall.I sigh, grabbing the remote and pressing the power button. The screen comes to life, and immediately, the headline slaps me across the face like a hammer. “TH

Damien Shaw I curse under my breath for what feels like the hundredth time today, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. My patience is running thin, and I swear I’m two seconds away from throwing my damn phone out the window. It had started early this morning—my private number, the one only family and close friends should have access to, had been blown up by reporters. I have no idea how they got it, but every few minutes, another call comes in, another message, another desperate attempt to dig their claws deeper into the mess surrounding Imogene. I lean back against the headrest and take a deep breath, but it does nothing to ease the tension sitting in my chest. Outside, the estate is quiet now, but hours ago, it had been a different story. Protesters had crowded outside the gates, chanting about justice for Georgia Aiko, waving their signs like they had already convicted Imogene in their heads. I had my men clear them out, but I know it’s not over

Imogene Scott I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles whitening as I pull into the parking lot of the police station. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, so loud it nearly drowns out the hum of the engine. A part of me screams to turn back, to go home, to pretend I never got that text. But another part—the logical, rational part—knows that avoiding this will only make me look guilty.I take a deep breath, steadying myself before stepping out of the car. I pull my coat tighter around my body, trying to suppress the shiver crawling up my spine. The station’s glass doors slide open, and I walk in, my heels clicking against the tiled floor. The fluorescent lights overhead are too bright, making my skin prickle.A female officer greets me. “Mrs. Shaw, this way.”My stomach clenches. My voice feels lodged in my throat as I follow her down the hall. She leads me into an interrogation room, and I hesitate before stepping inside. The walls are bare, painted a dull gray, and the sing