All Chapters of Mrs. Hunt for 30 days: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

ChloeThe SUV's engine hummed as Diana settled into the seat beside me, her perfume filled the confined space with something expensive and suffocating."Get down," Diana commanded sharply.I stared at her in disbelief."What the heck?" I shot back. "Why would you just think you can command me like I'm a puppet? Last I checked, you wanted me arrested. You didn't want me anywhere near your son. So what's all this about? Go get Mitchelle and leave me the fuck alone!"Diana's expression remained cold and calculating. Before I could react, she pulled a handkerchief from her purse and pressed it firmly over my mouth and nose.I struggled immediately, my hands clawed at her wrists. The fabric had a strange chemical smell that made my head spin. I tried to scream but the sound came out muffled and weak.My vision blurred at the edges. The SUV's interior tilted sideways. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't fight anymore.Then darkness swallowed me whole.When I opened my eyes again, e

ChloeI stood outside Diana's mansion the next afternoon, my finger hovered over the doorbell for several long seconds before I finally pressed it.The door opened almost immediately. Diana stood there looking immaculate in a cream suit, a knowing smile played on her lips."I knew you'd come back running," she stated smugly. "But I didn't know it would be this soon."She stepped aside to let me enter. I walked past her into the foyer, without saying a word."The plan has changed," Diana announced, closing the door behind us.I whipped around to face her."What do you mean the plan has changed?"Diana gestured for me to follow her into the living room. We settled into opposite chairs, the same seats we had occupied when I came running to her about Jason."I read the news," Diana began calmly. "I also went to the hospital to check on my brother's condition secretly. Dorian won't be out of there for months, Chloe. Months of recovery, physical therapy, all of it.""So?" I challenged. "Wha

Mitchelle"Excuse me?" I repeated, louder this time. "I didn't hear you well."The woman smiled, with a cold expression that didn't reach her eyes."What do you mean you didn't hear well?" she responded sharply. "I said, I am Mrs. Ivy Rothschild. Dorian's wife. Do you see this ring?"She held up her left hand, displaying a wedding band that glinted in the afternoon sunlight."I'm trying to get into my house and this security is telling me I can't enter," Ivy continued. "I heard that my husband was shot at some event, and I came back immediately. We've been away for a while, but we decided to come home when I heard the news."My eyes dropped to the child standing beside her. He had Dorian's dark hair, Dorian's straight nose, Dorian's jawline. The resemblance was striking, undeniable."What?" I breathed.Ivy pulled out her phone and showed me a photograph. A wedding photo, clearly years old, showing a younger Dorian in a tuxedo standing beside this same woman in a white wedding dress."

JasonIt had been a month since Vincent and I brought back Hunt Classics, and it was the perfect Monday to address and welcome the entire staff on board.I stood in front of the small gathering of Hunt Classics staff, swaying slightly on my feet. The fluorescent lights of the conference room felt too bright, making my head pound. I had drunk half a bottle of scotch before this meeting, and the alcohol made everything fuzzy around the edges."Welcome to... to Hunt Classics," I began, my words slurred together. "We're, uh, we're rebuilding what was... what was lost. Starting fresh and..."I lost my train of thought completely. The faces staring back at me blurred into an indistinct mass.Vincent appeared beside me suddenly."Thank you, Jason," Vincent interjected smoothly, guiding me away from the podium. "I'll take it from here."He practically pushed me into a chair at the side of the room and turned back to address the confused staff members."What Mr. Hunt means to say is that Hunt

MitchelleI woke up that morning feeling like I had aged ten years overnight. The mirror showed dark circles under my eyes from weeks of crying myself to sleep, stress lines etched deeper into my forehead than should exist on someone my age.I pulled a baggy black dress from the closet, something shapeless that wouldn't require effort. My hands shook as I applied foundation, layering it thick over the evidence of my exhaustion. The woman staring back at me looked hollow, broken, but at least the makeup hid the worst of it.Downstairs, the household staff waited for their daily instructions. I forced myself to stand straight, to speak clearly, to pretend everything was under control."The gardeners need to finish trimming the hedges by Friday," I stated mechanically. "The caterers for next week's business dinner should arrive at six. Make sure the guest rooms are prepared in case anyone needs to stay overnight."They nodded and dispersed to their tasks. I grabbed my purse and headed fo