All Chapters of Revenge Becomes Her: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

The storm had not relented.Rain lashed against the tall windows of Farwell Manor in wild, unpredictable rhythms. Trees groaned under the weight of the wind. Somewhere down the hall, an old shutter banged open and shut like a heartbeat in the dark.Ethan couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t bear the thought that Fallon was a few feet away from him; the urge to be with her was so strong. He sat at the edge of the guest bed, the silk robe loosely tied around his waist. His thoughts were too loud, but his desire to possess her was way louder. A feeling that until now has remained a mystery to him.The storm outside had long since found its echo within him, threading through the quiet spaces in his chest.He rose, barefoot on the soft carpet, and padded down the dimly lit corridor.He noticed that Fallon’s door was ajar.A soft, golden flicker glowed from within, firelight from the hearth, its warmth bleeding onto the dark floorboards.Ethan paused at the threshold.Then he heard it.Subtle whimpe

AT THE HOSPITAL...Sophia paced back and forth near the cashier’s desk, her arms wrapped tightly around herself like a crumbling shield.The sharp click of her shoes echoed off the linoleum floor, back and forth, back and forth, a metronome of desperation. Her breathing was shallow, nearly tremulous, her chest rising in short, uneven gasps. Her heart beat like a warning bell in her ears.She was aware of the clerk’s eyes, sympathetic but detached. Not cruel. Just conditioned. This wasn’t personal. It was policy.Her gaze locked onto the card machine.“PROCESSING…” The word flashed across the screen like a countdown.This was her final card.The last one has not yet declined. The last sliver of borrowed grace.“Please go through.” “Please don’t take her room away.” “Not today.”She had already lost so much. They had already taken the VIP ward. Just yesterday, her mother had been lying in a room filled with sun—clean linens, wide windows, the smell of eucalyptus oil, and fresh lilies

In New York Medical Hospital.Eliot’s office. The blinds are half-drawn, casting long shadows across the neat rows of medical books lining the wall. A subtle hum from the hallway outside is muffled the moment the office door closes behind with a deliberate click.Eliot doesn’t look up right away. His pen scratches the paper in slow, focused strokes. Only when the silence stretches unnaturally does he lift his eyes.They land on Ethan’s face, tired, shadowed with something unreadable.“What are you doing here?” Eliot’s ask. His voice sharp, he is clearly not impressed with Ethan’s sudden appearance. Ethan did not waste any moment and blurted out his concern, “I need your help.”Ethan takes a step further into the room. He doesn’t sit. He doesn’t smile.He stands there, his presence more a weight than a greeting.The tension coils tight between them. Eliot sets the pen down with precision and leans back in his chair, folding his arms.Eliot smirked and crossed his arms. “Help you?” He

The soft hum of the engines vibrates through the cabin, constant and detached. Outside the window, the sky is black—an endless ocean of stars swallowed by clouds.Fallon slowly stirs, her eyelids fluttering open to a dimly lit interior that smells faintly of leather and lavender oil. Her head throbs. Her mouth is dry. Her wrists are gently, but firmly, cuffed to the arms of her seat, restrained in sleek, silk-lined leather like a prisoner wrapped in luxury.She blinks, trying to gather herself. The fog in her mind lingers like a drug she hasn't quite shaken off.“Where are you taking me?” She asks the flight attendant. Her voice was soft and dry. Not asking for any help to be untied because she knew she can’t get away anyway.The flight attendant smiled. “Mr. Kingsley wants to send you to Canada.” She replied casually as if seeing a woman tied up was the norm.Fallon nods. Her eyes are still blurry, and her mind is still foggy.Despite that, she remembers every word Nathan had told her

HARLENE’S OFFICE – LATE AFTERNOONThe room is silent save for the faint ticking of the antique wall clock. Papers sit in neat stacks on the desk, untouched. The tea on the side table has gone cold.Harlene sits by the window, her attention far away, until the door opens—slowly, deliberately.She doesn’t turn. She doesn’t need to.She already feels it—a shift in the air, a heaviness that only ever comes with Eliot’s guilt.He enters, holding a thick folder in his hand, his knuckles pale from how tightly he grips it.He says nothing.But he doesn’t need to.Harlene turns to face him, eyes narrowing with a slow, sinking dread.“Did something bad happen?” Her voice is calm, but a storm trembles beneath it.Eliot moves like a man carrying a coffin, placing the folder on her desk without a word.“Eliot…” She called out to him.She studies his face, drawn, haunted. The way his shoulders slope with shame, how his mouth refuses to form the words.She reaches out and touches the folder. Clueless