All Chapters of The Wife He Threw Away : Chapter 211 - Chapter 216

I had never wanted to argue with a sixty-year-old woman more in my life. Yet somehow, Margot Sinclair was making it very difficult not to. The video call filled the screen mounted on the wall across from my hospital bed. Margot sat upright against her pillows, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who had just been told she was Hart Sullivan’s newest target. Beside her sat Professor Grant. Unlike his wife, he looked alarmed— as he should. Claire stood near the foot of my bed with her arms folded tightly across her chest. The detective assigned to Hart Sullivan’s case stood nearby. Nobody looked happy. Except Margot, who looked like she couldn’t have cared less. That was the problem. “I’ve already arranged additional security,” I said. My shoulder throbbed, my side ached— I ignored them. “There will be double the number of guards outside your room twenty-four hours a day.” Margot sighed dramatically. “You make it sound as though I’m under siege.”

Pain was a remarkable thing. When it was bad enough, it stripped life down to just the essentials: breathing, moving, surviving. Everything else became secondary. The wound felt like it was on fire. Every bump in the road had been a complete agony. Every movement a punishment. And yet, as I sat alone inside the abandoned construction site, staring out over rusted steel beams and unfinished concrete, I barely noticed any of it. Because I wasn’t thinking about the bullet. I was thinking about that bastard, Hart Sullivan. The site had belonged to Dhark Holdings once. Years ago, before the project had been abandoned. Before budgets shifted and priorities changed. Now it sat forgotten at the edge of the city. Empty, silent… perfect. Nobody would ever think of coming here. Nobody except the man I was waiting for. I leaned back carefully against the wall. I immediately regretted that, as the movement sent a sharp stab of pain through my body. I ignored

Claire. Claire. Claire. The name echoed through my head long after Hart Sullivan stopped speaking. The abandoned construction site had gone silent. Not peaceful. Never peaceful. The kind of silence that came right before violence. Hart stood a few feet away, hands loose at his sides, watching me with the relaxed confidence of a predator. Like he already knew how this ended. Maybe he did. Maybe I did too. “The police will be here in twenty-three minutes,” I said. Hart smiled. “Then I suppose we should make the most of the time.” The smile stayed on his face. Mine disappeared. For several seconds neither of us moved. The wind whistled through unfinished concrete and exposed steel beams. The pain in my shoulder pulsed steadily. A reminder that I should still be in a hospital bed. A reminder that I wasn’t. I exhaled slowly. “There are a couple things I want to know.” Hart’s smile widened. “Funny.” He tilted his head. “So do I.” I ignored that. “Why are you so