All Chapters of My Millionaire Husband’s Secret: Chapter 231 - Chapter 240

I let myself sink fully to the floor, the cool surface grounding me as everything else seemed to tilt out of place.If Alan finds out about this… could he use it to keep our marriage intact? Even with the final proceedings scheduled for today?The thought makes my stomach twist.I look up at Lincoln through a haze, feeling every ounce of strength — every bit of color — drain from my face.“I’ll carry you to the car and we can talk more in private, okay?” he says softly, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face with careful fingers.I nod, unable to trust my voice.He lifts me gently, like I might shatter if he isn’t careful. I try to gather my spiraling thoughts as he carries me outside, the air cool against my skin. Misfortune seems to follow me relentlessly lately, one wave crashing into the next before I can recover from the last.Lincoln places me carefully in the passenger seat and closes the door before circling to the driver’s side. Once inside, he turns toward me instead o

“What did Alan do to Jessie?” I ask tearfully, bracing myself for whatever answer comes next. My chest feels tight, like I already know it’s going to hurt.“Well… it’s still an ongoing investigation,” Miller says carefully, “but Alan is being charged with kidnapping and attempted sexual assault.”“Sexual assault?!” The words explode out of me before I can stop them. “Alan would never — he’d never do something like that!” Tears spill freely down my cheeks now, hot and unstoppable.“I’m sorry, Olivia,” he says gently. “But evidence suggests he intended to get Jessie pregnant to stop their divorce proceedings. And she wasn’t consenting.” He hesitates before adding quietly, “He’s also been physically violent with her.”“No… no.” I shake my head repeatedly, covering my face as if I can block the words out. My breathing turns uneven as I try to wipe the tears away, but they keep coming.“I really am sorry.”The room feels too small suddenly, the air too heavy.“What about Aunt Rebecca? Wher

I can tell by the sergeant’s expression that whatever news he has isn’t comforting—certainly nothing Jessie is going to want to hear. His face is too rigid, too rehearsed. He won’t meet Jessie’s eyes for more than a second at a time, and that alone tells me everything.I move ahead of Jessie, guiding her gently toward the chair across from his desk, my hand hovering near her back in case she falters. She lowers herself into the seat slowly, her strength still fragile after everything she’s endured.I close the office door behind us, the quiet click sounding final. Too final.I position myself slightly between her and the desk before speaking.“Sergeant, I’d like to ask for a small favor, if you would.”“A favor for you is almost guaranteed, Lincoln. Ask,” he replies casually, bending down to open his desk drawer. He pulls out a bottle of scotch and two crystal glasses, setting them down with deliberate calm.I don’t relax.“Jessie’s been through a lot today,” I say firmly. “She’s unde

“It’s been a long time since anyone’s made it this far pulling a stunt like that.” I sigh, pushing myself up from behind my desk. The chair creaks softly as it rolls back, the sound loud in the otherwise suffocating quiet of my office. I straighten my jacket, forcing the weight of command back onto my shoulders. “Pennet, you’ve done well. I’ll take it from here.”“But sir, I can handle that shrink.” His voice carries confusion—and something else. Pride, maybe. He isn’t used to being pulled off an interrogation this close to the truth.“I’m aware,” I reply evenly, meeting his eyes just long enough for him to understand this isn’t a discussion. “But I think it’s time she met with the one running the place. We have something to discuss.” My tone leaves no room for argument.I brush past both men and step into the hallway, the air outside my office cooler, heavier, filled with the distant hum of phones and the low murmur of officers moving through their shifts.“Lincoln, forgive my abrupt

I watch as Rebecca Smithdale’s silence grows louder, thickening the air in the interrogation room until it feels almost suffocating. It’s not just quiet — it’s deliberate. A calculated omission.That’s when I see it.Her trigger response.She begins picking at the edge of her nail, scraping at it as though something is lodged beneath it. Subconscious. Repetitive. Compulsive.A crack in the armor.“Are you nervous?” I ask calmly, folding my hands on the table as if we’re discussing the weather.Her eyes flick to mine. “No. I just don’t know what it is you expect from me. I didn’t kill Nicholas.”“You didn’t,” I agree evenly. “But you repeatedly left him on the brink of death. You tortured him enough to leave evidence on what little DNA remained.”I let the next words land slowly.“His bones.”Her jaw tightens.“Nicholas wanted to get better,” she says, her tone sharpening, but there’s a tremor underneath it now.“Did he?” I counter. “Because his remains say otherwise. We found defensiv