All Chapters of Married To My Husband’s Father : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

While Chloe sat in her cold concrete cell, the shadow of Arthur Vance was moving through the city with terrifying, silent precision. A week after the Maritime Gala, the heavy rain had finally stopped, leaving a cold fog hanging low over the industrial shipping docks along the riverbank. At the far end of Pier 14 stood a small, weathered warehouse, partially hidden behind rows of empty blue shipping containers. Inside, the air carried the faint smells of salt water, diesel, and aged wood. A simple wooden chair stood in the middle of the concrete floor, illuminated by a single bare bulb hanging from an exposed ceiling beam. Lily sat quietly in the chair, her wrists secured to the armrests with thick straps. Her hair was tangled, her face pale and marked with faint smudges of dirt. Her red jacket was torn at the elbow, and her hands trembled nervously against the straps. Standing a few feet in front of her was Arthur Vance. His expression was composed, his grey eyes cold and f

The cold evening air inside Cell 4 smelled of old soup, wet wool, and damp stone. The iron door had already been locked for the night, leaving the nine women inside under the dim light of the single bulb mounted high on the concrete wall. Most of the inmates lay on their thin mats, wrapped in rough gray blankets. Some spoke quietly while others simply stared at the ceiling. Chloe sat alone in the corner of the concrete bench. Her eyes were fixed on the floor three feet away. The morning newspaper—the one she had snatched from Monica hours earlier—lay crumpled under the bench, its edges curled and damp from the wet floor. Chloe bent down and picked it up. She smoothed the wrinkles with her hand, pressing the paper against her ruined gown. Some of the ink rubbed onto her skin, but she did not care. She read through the article again. Her eyes moved slowly over every word, line by line, paragraph by paragraph. She read the statements from the District Attorney. She read the

The following morning, gray fog covered the area around the city prison.At exactly seven o'clock, the heavy iron doors of all five holding cells opened at the same time. The sound of metal moving through the narrow stone corridors as dozens of female inmates walked into the large courtyard.The courtyard was surrounded by high stone walls with wire along the top. The ground was cold and wet from the morning dew. Long wooden tables, buckets of soapy water, and straw brooms were arranged around the yard.Every morning, the inmates were required to perform general duties. They cleaned the laundry tubs, swept the courtyard, and folded the blankets used in the cells.Chloe stood near the laundry area, wearing an oversized gray canvas jumpsuit that the prison guards had forced her to change into two days earlier, replacing her ruined gown. Her hair was tied back in a low ponytail. Her face was completely bare of makeup, and she still carried herself with the same stiff pride as before.Be

Back in the prison courtyard, the morning sun was still hidden behind thick gray clouds.Monica ran back across the wet concrete floor, her shoes making fast splashing sounds as she stepped over small puddles of soapy water. She held a clean white cloth in one hand, her bright blue eyes shining with simple, happy energy.She stopped right in front of Chloe."I'm back!" Monica said, breathing a bit fast from her run. She held out her hand. "Did you take a look at the silver? Is it still in good shape?"Chloe stood near the laundry table. Her hands were tucked deep inside the pockets of her jumpsuit. Her face was completely calm and showed no sign of emotion.Inside her right pocket, her fingers were wrapped tightly around the small silver heart."I took a look," Chloe said calmly "The metal is very high quality, Monica. But the clasp at the top is a bit loose. If you wear it while scrubbing those heavy wooden tubs, the thin chain could break and fall into the drain."Monica’s face fel

Meanwhile, inside the quiet office of the high-rise penthouse, Julian sat behind his desk. His eyes looked tired. Fine lines showed around his mouth. He reached down for a half-filled glass of wine. His hand trembled slightly, making the ice cubes clink against the glass. He raised it to his dry lips and took a slow sip, feeling the hot drink move down his throat. RING... RING... RING... His phone vibrated against the leather pad. Julian’s tightened his fingers around the glass until his knuckles almost turned white. He set the drink down and leaned forward. He stared at the bright screen. It was the same number. It had called him six days ago, at two o'clock in the morning. A cold, emotionless voice had spoken four short words before the line went dead. "Richard King is dead." By sunrise, the media had broken the news to the public. The stranger on the phone had known before anyone else. Julian wiped his palms against his trousers. He picked up the phone quickly and pre