All Chapters of The CEO'S Dead Wife: A Marriage Made In Hell!: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

ABIGAIL'S POVThe dress Richardson chose for me was a deep shade of midnight blue, the kind that shimmered subtly under light instead of screaming for attention. It clung to my body in a way that felt both elegant and confining, like a reminder that beauty often came with restraints. As I stood in front of the mirror fastening the last clasp of my necklace, I studied my reflection longer than necessary.I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me.She looked composed. Polished. Like someone who belonged beside powerful men in glittering halls, smiling politely while danger hid behind champagne flutes and curated laughter. But inside, my stomach was already tightening with something close to dread.Richardson knocked once before entering, his gaze sweeping over me with a kind of sharp approval that made my skin prickle.“You’re ready,” he said.It wasn’t a question.“I suppose,” I replied, smoothing my hands down the fabric of my dress. “Do I have a choice?”Something flickered in

ALEXANDER'S POV.By the time I drove back into the compound, the night had settled heavily over the city, thick and suffocating, the kind of darkness that pressed against your skin and made your thoughts louder than they had any right to be. I didn’t turn on the radio. I didn’t take any calls. I just drove, gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary, letting the familiar curves of the road guide me home like muscle memory I’d never lost.Home.The word felt strange now. Hollow. Temporary.I parked in the driveway and sat there for a moment longer than I should have, staring at the lights glowing warmly behind the tall glass windows, thinking about how easily everything could look untouched from the outside while rot spread freely within. I had survived prison. I had survived betrayal, isolation, the slow grinding humiliation of being caged for a crime I didn’t commit. What waited for me inside that house was supposed to be comfort.Instead, my jaw tightened.I stepped out of th

GEORGINA'S POV.The moment I stepped out of the elevator and into the dimly lit corridor, that smell wrapped around me like something invasive, crawling into my lungs and settling there. My heels made almost no sound against the polished floor as I walked toward Abigail’s room. Bruce’s men had done their part. The two security guards assigned to her had been “handled” discreetly, I’d been told. Sleeping comfortably in an empty on-call room.Men were so predictable when money was involved.I adjusted the scarf around my head and pushed the hospital door open gently.And there she was.Abigail.Lying in the hospital bed, pale against the white sheets, an oxygen line resting beneath her nose, her dark hair spread loosely across the pillow like ink spilled over silk. For a moment, she looked fragile. Smaller than I remembered. The monitors beside her blinked and beeped softly, charting her heartbeat with unwavering loyalty.I closed the door behind me.Silence settled.I walked closer, s

ALEXANDER'S POVI barely had time to sit down before my fingers were flying across the keyboard. Project Heirline was a labyrinth of secrecy, financial obfuscation, and digital ghosting. Every new discovery felt like pulling a thread in a sweater that could unravel the whole world.I traced transaction after transaction, code after code, each pointing to some kind of “child transfer protocol” designed to shuttle children from one wealthy family to another, all under the guise of philanthropy. The deeper I dug, the more I realized that the system was infinitely more sinister than I’d imagined. Every document I found implicated hidden operatives, people who knew exactly where Tristan and Sydney were, people who would stop at nothing to protect the protocol.My stomach tightened. One wrong move, one premature leak, and we could lose both children forever. My hands shook slightly as I called in reinforcements.“Liam, I need you on this now,” I said, my voice low but urgent. “I need every

ABIGAIL'S POVI did not remember sitting down, but somehow I was on the floor.The screen still flickered in front of us, bathing the sterile hospital waiting area in cold blue light. Tristan’s tiny chest rose and fell in slow, innocent rhythm. He had no idea that strangers in masks stood around him like sentries guarding stolen treasure.My son.My fingers dug into the tile as if the ground itself might disappear beneath me.“Trace it,” I whispered, my voice hollow.Alexander was already moving. He dragged a chair beneath the mounted television and yanked open the access panel behind it. Wires spilled out. His jaw was tight, movements precise, lethal in their efficiency.“Ava,” he snapped without looking at her, “everything you gave us. Now. Cross-reference nodes. Routing layers. Any emergency relay points.”She staggered to her feet, bracing herself against the counter. “The live feeds usually bounce through three shells,” she said quickly. “Charity hospitals, insurance audit server