Lost Her Forever, Driven Mad by Regret
After four years locked in a high-security mental ward, Adaline's billionaire husband finally came to see her.
But Carter didn't come to save her. He threw the divorce papers at her face, demanding she make way for his engagement to her adopted sister, Elois.
Adaline couldn't even speak to defend herself.
Her tongue had been mangled, her nails pulled out, and her leg shattered by the asylum orderlies-all paid for by Elois's trust fund.
When Adaline desperately handed Carter her terminal lung cancer diagnosis, begging for just enough money to buy painkillers, he tore it to pieces without a second glance.
"Do not use the city's medical resources as props for your pathetic attempts to avoid signing those papers," he sneered.
He thought her coughing up dark blood was just a cheap trick.
He threw a stack of cash at her face and told her to kiss his bodyguard's muddy boot if she wanted the money to survive.
Her adoptive parents froze all her assets, calling her a violent psychopath, while Elois poured boiling tea on her broken leg and smiled.
Elois had stolen her violin career, her compositions, and her husband, yet everyone treated the monster like a fragile angel.
Why did the man who once loved her turn a blind eye to her deformed hands and bleeding throat?
Why did her own family want her dead so badly?
Lying in the dark, burning with a terminal fever, Adaline knew she only had two months left to live.
Since she was going to die anyway, she would make sure to drag them all to hell with her.
Chapters
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Chapter 1
"Mr. Holder, you're coming to pick her up now? Great, great. We'll wait for you at the entrance."
After hanging up, the doctor's obsequious smile vanished, replaced by a cold glare. "You'd better keep your mouth shut. Know what to say and what not to say. Otherwise, I have plenty of ways to bring you back in."
Adaline went pale and shook her head vigorously. "No... won't say." Her tongue was missing a piece, making her speech halting. The doctor figured she didn't have the nerve to tell the truth anyway.
Soon, a black Rolls-Royce Cullinan pulled up slowly. The window rolled down, revealing a strikingly handsome face. "Get in."
At the sound of that familiar voice, she stood frozen, then slowly lifted her head to meet those dark, heavy eyes. The name that rushed to her lips--"Carter"--she swallowed back. "Mr.... Mr. Holder."
The man who was legally her husband. All that remained was that cold, distant address. "Don't make me repeat myself." His voice was icy, threaded with impatience.
Four years apart, and he was more commanding than ever, more devastatingly handsome--and more terrifying to her. Once, she had chased him relentlessly for ten years, clinging and shameless, the laughingstock of the entire city. Now, she was deathly afraid of him, desperate to avoid him at all costs.
She dropped her head and limped toward the black car, her left foot clearly off. Carter glanced at it, a trace of mockery in his eyes. "Adaline, still using that trick? Playing for sympathy only works so many times. Looks like that place didn't cure your bad habits. You--"
The next moment, she began to tremble violently, her pupils contracting. Her knees gave out from standing too long, and she collapsed to the ground. She couldn't go back! She would die there! Her left leg had been broken years ago when she tried to escape and an orderly caught her. It had never healed properly.
These four years, she had learned her lesson. She would never compete with Elois for anything again, never cling to the title of Mrs. Holder. She would give it all back! "I'm... sorry. I know... I was wrong. Please... don't send me back in!"
"You--" Carter stopped mid-sentence. The old Adaline--arrogant, overbearing, ruthless--would never have apologized. She had been insufferable, done every bad thing imaginable, climbed into his bed, forced him to marry her. And now she was apologizing.
But wrongs had to be paid for. "Looks like sending you there finally taught you some sense. Get in."
Adaline didn't move. She stared at the car as if it were a monster. That was how she had been taken--forced into a car just like this and driven to Westcliff Rehabilitation Center. Cold sweat broke out on her back. Her teeth chattered as she forced out the words, "Can... I not go?"
"I'm not asking. Get in."
Finally, she climbed in and curled into the corner, barely touching the seat, trying to take up as little space as possible. Carter frowned. Before he could speak, she began trembling and apologizing nonstop. "Sorry... sorry... I got your car dirty. I'll wipe it... wipe it clean." She knelt on the seat and started scrubbing the leather with her sleeve, even though there was no mark. "Almost... clean. Not dirty. I'm not dirty..."
The wounds on her fingers tore open, and blood dripped onto the leather. She grew more frantic, scrubbing harder. "I'll get it clean. Don't hit me. Don't hit..."
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