บททั้งหมดของ My Millionaire Husband’s Secret: บทที่ 211 - บทที่ 220

I walk back into the interrogation room with Tim in tow—a man hired to represent Rebecca Smithdale, the imposter nurse turned licensed therapist. One look at the table tells me everything I need to know: she didn’t hire any of them.Two additional attorneys sit beside her, their tailored suits sharp enough to cut glass. The kind of suits that cost more than a therapist’s annual salary. Old money. Corporate money.Alan.There’s no doubt in my mind now—he’s behind this.But why?Why would he go to these lengths for a woman who helped plan Jessie’s murder? What does Rebecca Smithdale mean to him? And why protect her when she’s clearly expendable?I lean over the table and place the recorder down with a deliberate click, centering it between us.“Tim’s informed me that you’re requesting to renegotiate your deal,” I say flatly, hovering my finger over the red button. “Everything from this point forward will be on the record for the District Attorney’s statement and prosecution. Is that goi

I know there’s nothing I can do to erase the distress Jessie is drowning in. The realization that she’s been deliberately targeted for over three years—watched, studied, stalked—without ever knowing is a truth no one should have to carry.I feel her body tense beside mine, her breathing shallow and uneven.“Jess?” I say softly.“I’m not safe,” she whispers. “If she’s been watching me for three years and I never noticed, then I’m not safe. I never have been.” Her voice fractures as the weight of it sinks in.“You’re safe here,” I say immediately. “Ivy installed ESME. The perimeter is monitored, the alerts are live—and you have me.” I manage a small smile, even if it feels brittle.She shakes her head.“Maybe it’s better if you don’t stay too close to me,” she says quietly. “I don’t want to lead Blaire straight to your doorstep too.”My chest tightens.“Jess.” I lift her chin gently until she’s forced to meet my eyes. “I’m not afraid of Blaire. What she does doesn’t dictate what I do. I

Those who say money cannot buy the world, clearly didn’t have the quantity needed to buy it. Because after a few hundred dollars, I’m escorted into a private room to meet with my attorneys, and my request to be kept out of Blaire’s line of sight is accommodated precisely to my liking. Curtains drawn. Angles adjusted. Silence enforced. Money has a way of making people attentive.The door clicks open at the subtle signal passed between officers. Sanderson — the one I’ve come to know well — nods once before stepping aside.Inside, three of my most qualified legal advisors sit at the table. Henry, Brendon, and Steven. Tim’s absence doesn’t go unnoticed; I’d lent him to my aunt Rebecca as a lifeline, and for once, that favor might pay dividends.“Mr. Smith,” Henry says, rising slightly from his chair. “We’re glad to see you’re well.”“As well as I can be,” I reply flatly.I turn my head just enough to expose the bruising along my right jawline — a reminder I haven’t forgotten. Lincoln wil

I watch as Officer Pennet leans back in his chair, the metal legs scraping softly against the floor. His expression is expectant now—no longer curious, but patient in the way predators are when they already know the prey is cornered.“I think you have some other truths you’d like to share,” he says flatly.I turn to Tim. He meets my eyes for a brief moment before giving me a small, almost imperceptible nod. Go on.“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, forcing steadiness into my voice. “I told you everything. I told you what I’d done—and what Blaire had done. What more is there?”My hands begin to shake beneath the table, betraying the calm façade I’ve been clinging to since I walked into this room.“Ms. Smithsdale,” Pennet says carefully, each word measured, “you have yet to address who is responsible for what happened to your niece, Olivia.”My breath catches painfully in my chest.No.He couldn’t possibly know about—I never told a soul.“Blaire wasn’t responsible,” I say quickly. “A

I slide into the driver’s seat without hesitation and punch the address into the navigator.The route loads—and my stomach drops.It’s in an entirely different city.“Hey, Mike. Look at this.” I tilt the screen toward him as he leans forward, squinting at the map.“That can’t be a coincidence,” he says, his head cocked slightly to the side.“My thoughts exactly.”The previous residence of Rebecca Smithsdale—what we’ve come to know as Nicholas Peterson’s final resting place—is only a block away from where Jessie’s parents were killed in that so-called car accident. Too close. Uncomfortably close.What makes it even stranger is that Oliver had no way of knowing the Adlers’ new commute route after they sold their company and moved out to the country. That information wouldn’t have been public. But a neighbor? A local resident? Someone familiar with the area?They would’ve known.“Do you think Rebecca could’ve hired the driver who hit them that day?” Mike asks carefully as we merge onto t