บททั้งหมดของ My Millionaire Husband’s Secret: บทที่ 221 - บทที่ 230

Life had been nothing more than a haze of alcohol and bad decisions until I fell in love with my life coach — Rebecca Smithsdale.Unconventional, sure. But she was beautiful. Her long blonde hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, framing those animated, understanding blue eyes. Everything about her was gentle — soft features, patient expressions, a calming presence that made it almost impossible not to feel drawn to her.To me, she became perfection. Elegant, seemingly ageless, composed in ways I never managed to be. And after months of persistence — convincing her that my feelings were real, not just misplaced dependency — she finally gave me a chance. I wooed her, or at least I believed I did, and before long I was calling her my future wife.A dream come true.Or at least, that’s what I thought.Until I met someone even more beautiful.Her niece.Rebecca and I had been together three years when her brother Oliver took his own life. The devastation in her voice when she told me

I take the first step toward the door of the old Smithsdale residence, mentally cataloging everything I see. It’s immediately clear there are no squatters. Every visible window is intact, the front door is shut firmly in its frame, and although the landscaping has overgrown and begun reclaiming parts of the structure, the gate had opened smoothly. Oddly enough, the path leading to the front door was completely clear.That alone doesn’t sit right.“Hey, Mike… does it look like someone’s been here recently?” I ask quietly as I move toward the door.“In a way, yeah,” he replies, scanning the yard again. “Someone had to clear that path to get inside. And a squatter wouldn’t usually bother with something like that.”“You’re right. But who would?” I mutter, more to myself than to him, as I reach for the doorknob.To my surprise, it turns easily. The door swings open without a single creak — smooth, silent, deliberate.“Looks like someone’s been oiling the hinges too,” Mike adds as we step i

I do as the police officers say and lower myself onto the edge of the bed. My legs still feel strange beneath me — unfamiliar, like they don’t fully belong to me yet — but I stay seated, folding my hands tightly in my lap.Why did they say Aunt Rebecca and Alan don’t live here anymore?Why would they leave without telling me?That doesn’t make sense. Alan would never just leave me.A few tears slip down my cheeks before I can stop them. I quickly wipe them away, embarrassed, especially when the louder officer sits beside me. He doesn’t seem loud anymore, though. Just… careful.“Olivia,” he says gently, “do you remember why you couldn’t walk?”“I was in an accident,” I answer honestly. “The nurses said my spine was injured.”“That’s right,” the other officer — the nicer one — says. “But do you remember how it happened?”“No…” My voice comes out smaller than I expect. Fear creeps up my chest, tightening it. My hands start to tremble without my permission. I notice both officers glance d

After about an hour, I’m told my attorney visit is over and I’m escorted back to a holding cell. The heavy door shuts behind me with a final metallic clang that seems to echo longer than it should. I settle onto the narrow metal bench, convinced the officers will be back soon with news about Nicholas.They have to be.The air smells faintly of bleach, rust, and something older — something stale that never quite leaves a place like this. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, relentless and sterile. Around me, other detainees shift, mutter, pace. A cough echoes. Someone argues with an officer down the corridor. I listen to it all, trying to silently assess each voice, each emotional cue. Old habits. Anything to keep my thoughts from spiraling where they don’t want to go.Time stretches strangely here. Minutes feel elastic, unreliable. Eventually, exhaustion begins pressing down on me — mental more than physical. I stretch out on the metal slab bolted to the wall, its thin mattress offering b

After a few rings, Miller finally answers.“Is everything okay with Jessie?” he asks immediately, his voice tight with concern.“There’s been an emergency,” I reply. “Jessie and I are at the assisted living facility. We’ve just been told Olivia discharged herself. She’s gone, and Jessie’s extremely worried.”I glance over at Jessie, who’s pacing back and forth like a caged animal, her hands twisting together as anxiety radiates off her in waves.“We have Olivia here. She’s fine.”His voice sounds steady, certain… but there’s a heaviness behind it that makes my stomach knot.“She’s here? Where the hell is here? Did you arrest her?” My pulse spikes. What the hell is going on?My tone makes Jessie stop pacing. She looks at me sharply, searching my face for answers.“She’s here at a crime scene with Pennet and me,” Miller clarifies. “She’s not arrested. She’s not hurt. Just… startled. Some things came to light. I think it’d be best if you bring Jessie to the station and wait for us there.