Revenge Of The Wife They Sold

Adeline Carter's POV:

A profound sense of emptiness washed over me.

Brock's words, his exaggerated professions of love—it felt like a script he was reading to soothe his own conscience.

“I love you too, Brock,” I whispered.

I knew I loved him, or at least, the man I thought he was.

We were both trapped.

And now, I realized the two crucial links: Alvin Thompson, the CEO of Brock's company, and Gill Webb, my boss, were more than just powerful men in this city.

Neither of us had the power to fight them.

Brock started to cry. I knew exactly why he was crying.

I handed him a glass of water. He drank half of it, his hands trembling.

He wiped his eyes, his voice husky. “I'll turn things around, Addie. We won't be stepped on anymore. I promise.”

Then, he poured me a glass of milk. “Drink some, Addie. You've had a long day. It'll help you sleep.”

His voice was tender, but his expression was taut with tension.

I looked at the glass, then at Brock's strained face. He was watching me, his body coiled with anticipation.

My stomach churned, but I picked up the glass. I brought it to my lips. My throat constricted.

Brock let out a long, audible breath, a wave of visible relief washing over him. The tension in his shoulders vanished.

He thought he'd succeeded.

The milk he gave me was laced with a sedative.

But what he didn't know was that I had drugged his water, too.